Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1) (28 page)

"For Christ's sake, what does Devon have to
do with this?"

In the hallway, Devon leaned weakly against
the doorframe. The door was ajar only a crack, but it had been
enough for her to hear and see all. Feeling soiled and despicable
and sneaky, she walked blindly back to the haven of her own
bedchamber, tears rolling down her face.

Azalea was regaining her composure, meeting
Raveneau's steely gaze as she refastened her gown. "Devon has a
great deal to do with this. You would never have wanted me if I
hadn't mentioned her name, so you needn't tell me you don't care.
You may not be able to admit your feelings to her or even to me,
but the day will come when you must face them yourself." She rose
and put a hand up to his dark, chiseled face. "For your sake as
well as Devon's, try to overcome your stubborn pride. Darling
Andre, I wish you only the best."

***~~~***

October 28, 1781

"I'm in love with Andre," Devon said softly.
She lay in bed, wide awake and curled into a tense ball of pain. It
was long after midnight, and moonlight streamed in, turning the
white sheets and spread to pale blue.

Only love could cause her such deep,
paralyzing pain. Only love could make her abandon all pride to be
near him and suffer his moodiness. Love forced her to return his
kisses in the darkness and lit her up with a golden glow when he
came to her. Raveneau was the center of her existence, and the
reason was nothing so trivial as physical attraction. I love him,
her heart said, and sent a fresh stream of hot, acid tears.

The door opened. Without a word, Raveneau set
the candle on a table and sat down on the bed, bending to pull off
his boots.

Devon lunged. She pulled his gleaming hair
and pummeled his wide back ferociously. Raveneau put out an arm,
shaking her off as though she were an overplayful kitten.
"Dieu!
What has gotten into
you?"
He peered closer in
the shadows and saw the fury in her great sapphire eyes. A twinge
of guilt in his gut suggested the reason.

"Get away from me." Devon's voice was
poisonously even. "If you touch me, I will kill you."

Raveneau blinked. "I believe you would try at
any rate. Women! You're all lunatics. Is it jealousy that's eating
at you?"

"Leave my room!" she cried.

"Now, Devon, be reasonable—"

She threw herself at him again, clawing at
his chest and face until he caught her wrists and pulled her to
him. He kissed her, and for one dangerous moment Devon felt herself
soften in response. Then she summoned every ounce of strength and
bit his tongue, savagely. An astonished Raveneau released her and
she slapped him full across the face with all her might. "Bastard!
Get out of my room!"

His own eyes now flashed silver. He lightly
returned her slap, just enough to knock a bit of steam out of her,
and stalked toward the door. Devon tumbled backward on the bed, but
managed to scramble up. Before he reached the door, she seized the
pitcher from her washstand and flung it after him. Raveneau deftly
sidestepped, and it crashed loudly against the wall.

"I ought to put you over my knee, you
murderous little bitch!" He paused, listening with satisfaction to
the sudden patter of footsteps downstairs. "I have a feeling that
Mrs. Strivingham may be just angry enough to save me the
trouble."

"Get out!" Devon screamed. She picked up the
washstand basin and brandished it at him, but Raveneau ducked out
the doorway before she could throw it. He slammed the door shut
behind him.

* * *

The privateersmen assembled and breakfasted
at dawn. Hearing the commotion, Azalea slipped on her dressing gown
and padded out to the hall. Raveneau was at Devon's door, knocking,
and she paused, watching curiously.

"We are departing," he said tonelessly to the
closed door. "I trust you are ready."

Raveneau turned away and saw Azalea.
"Au
revoir,
Madame Smith," he murmured, meeting her as she came
forward.

Azalea could see the tension in his jaw, the
odd, frosty pain in his gray eyes. She had been right last night,
she thought. Somehow Andre had changed. "How are you today?" she
asked gently.

"I am choking on the morality forced down my
throat, that's how the hell I am! Any more questions, virtuous
lady?"

Azalea stepped backward, her doe eyes wide.
"Goodness!" she whispered.

At that moment Devon's door opened and the
younger girl appeared, looking pale and worn. She saw Raveneau
standing with Azalea, and a sizzling fire lit her blue eyes. She
did not speak, but started toward the stairway, shoulders
squared.

"Wait, Devon!" Azalea called, and hurried
after her. Raveneau brushed by both of them and descended the
stairs.

"Please! I—" Azalea began. Then their eyes
met straight-on and her heart wrenched. "Oh. I'm so sorry. Oh, my
dear friend."

Devon could not resist the stricken
expression on Azalea's face. After all, she had never hidden her
feelings for Andre or her views on physical love. And Devon
had
heard Azalea stop Andre. She was really only angry at
him, and it suddenly seemed foolish to turn away from the only
person of whose love she could be certain. The two girls embraced
fervently.

"I—I'm so sorry," Azalea faltered. "I could
never intentionally hurt you!"

"I know. It's all right. I'm not angry with
you."

"And... Andre?"

Devon drew back, her delicate face hardening.
"He doesn't matter." Seeing Treasel looking up expectantly from the
entryway, she said hurriedly, "I must go, though God only knows
why. I wish I had another choice."

Azalea almost invited Devon to return with
her and Isaac, but then she said, "I have a feeling that your fate
lies with him, Devon. Take care. I love you."

"I love you, too. Thank you—and good fortune
to you and Isaac."

They hugged again, and Azalea watched her
friend quickly descend the stairs and draw up the hood of her
pelisse. "Good fortune to you, too, Devon!" she called as Raveneau
opened the front door, letting in a blast of frosty mist to greet
the band of privateersmen.

* * *

The
Black Eagle
felt like an old
friend. Devon was happy to see it, and somehow she felt that the
privateer returned her affection. The crewmen cheered when they
sighted Raveneau's party on the shore. They were as eager to set
sail after weeks away from the ocean as their captain. He boarded
and greeted his men, a brilliant smile transforming his
dangerous-looking face. He walked about and surveyed his ship,
stroking the sleek wood, the mahogany masts, the gleaming brass
fittings. He had returned to his private kingdom.

Halsey Minter calmly took Devon's arm and led
her toward the hatch. "You must be yearning for a bit of rest," he
suggested.

Devon sighed. "It is hard to say just what I
yearn for right now."

"Well, I'll get you settled in and then you
can think it over. Perhaps a hot meal might help."

"Perhaps." The familiar gangway warmed her
heart. It was good to be back.

Minter opened the door to the captain's cabin
and carried her things inside. Devon stopped short. "Wait. Just
wait! You can't mean to put me here? Have you spoken to Captain
Raveneau today?"

Blushing, Minter said, "Yes. In fact, he made
a special point of telling me that these would be your
quarters."

"Oh! That overbearing, uncivilized—"

Devon broke off at the sight of Raveneau
filling the doorway with his forbidding presence. Minter glanced
nervously from one to the other, but his dilemma was solved when
his captain said, "That will be all, Minter. I would like a bath, a
mug of cold ale, and the best beefsteak on board in half an
hour."

Minter nodded and dashed out gratefully,
pulling the door shut.

"You arrogant tyrant! What is the meaning of
this?" Devon demanded. "If you imagine that I will share your bed
now,
either you are a fool or you believe that I am—and I
assure you that the latter is not the case!"

"Devon, my spoiled vixen, you flatter
yourself. You are more than free to retire to the crew's quarters
at any time. Or you may sleep here on the floor." He sat down on
the bed and proceeded to pull off his boots. "Or you may jump
overboard. Or you may leave the boat and go to Yorktown. I really
don't care." Unbuttoning his shirt, he glanced up and added,
"Or
you can stop pouting like a child and allow yourself to
enjoy the warmth of my bed. We both know you want to."

Devon's heart was pounding, but she managed
to curl her lip disdainfully. "Your conceit is unparalleled,
Captain. I would sooner sleep with a snake!"

He put his dark head back and laughed.
"Mademoiselle, that is without a doubt the most ridiculous
pronouncement you have made yet!"

* * *

Raveneau paid no further attention to Devon
during their first day at sea. He appeared in the cabin only long
enough to remove something from his desk or bittacle, or to quickly
eat a portion of the meal Minter had laid out for him.

Devon lay down on a pile of blankets on the
hard cabin floor early that evening. However, sleep was as elusive
as it had been the night before at the inn. Moonlight streamed
through the transom, lazy waves slapped the hull, and Raveneau was
shouting impatiently on deck. Finally she jumped up irritably and
stalked over to the neatly made bed on which Raveneau had ended her
girlhood only a few weeks before. The tick was cool and deep; the
soft pillows retained his arousing scent.

Devon stretched elaborately, yawning, and
snuggled down.

An hour later, she was still awake. Something
was amiss. There were muted voices above, mingling with a flurry of
footsteps. Devon quickly slipped out of bed and drew on a pair of
breeches over her bedgown, tucking the cambric garment into the
waistband.

The gangway was eerily quiet, its polished
lanterns bobbing, sending dancing orbs of light along the
bulkheads. She padded toward the hatch and ascended to the gun
deck. The gun crews were in position, standing by their cannon.
Devon flattened herself against the dark curve of the mainmast.

On the quarter-deck, Andre Raveneau tensed,
peering into the pale mist that hung from the night sky like a
curtain. Minter stood beside him, the captain's heavy peacoat in
his hands.

"Do you see anything, sir?" Minter inquired
hesitantly.

"No, damn it, but I don't need to. It's too
late to switch flags. They've seen us and are in pursuit."

Minter helped Raveneau into the coat. "Sir, I
cannot even
hear
anything!"

"Look, the damned ship is
there
and I
don't wish to argue the point!"

The two men stood together uneasily. When
Raveneau moved at last, rubbing the back of his neck, Minter said,
"Well, I'll leave you alone, then, sir. If there is—"

"No, wait." He glanced down with studied
detachment, but his steward recognized the silver flame in his
eyes. "Ah... I've been wondering about Devon. Do you think she is
well?"

Minter was hard pressed to hide his
astonishment. What could
this
mean? "As a matter of fact,
Captain, I do not think Devon is well."

"What do you mean?"

"I think she is hurting."

Now he wished he had never begun this
conversation. "Oh? What ails her?"

"If you'll pardon me for saying
so—
you
, sir. You've hurt her deeply and I think it's a
terrible thing. Devon's young and eager, and if you don't stop
you'll kill all that fresh sweetness. Glare at me if you like,
Captain, but I'm determined to speak. I say that you should treat
Devon properly or let her go to someone who will!" Minter drew
himself up to his full height. "Good night, sir. Call if you need
me. I am going below."

The ship bustled with quiet activity. All
hands had been called on deck and excitement charged the air.
Across the deck, Devon heard one lusty-looking seaman chortle,
"Aye, it's been too long! We all need a bloody good fight!"

She crept behind a heavy coil of rope in an
out- of-the-way corner. She waited, listening, determined not to
miss the action this time. Part of her welcomed the prospect of
reckless danger, a dramatic distraction for her aching heart.

Time passed slowly, then all at once there
was a great deal of noise. On the quarter-deck, Raveneau shouted,
"Lane! See to the boarding nets! Now!" He turned to Wheaton, and
his face could have been the devil's own. "Ha! Do you see her? The
monster is a first-rate frigate! Perfect! She thinks to snap us up
like a fish for dinner!" He laughed harshly. "I love surprises,
don't you, Wheaton?"

The old man grinned in response, caught up by
Raveneau's fire. A night to remember, by God! If anyone could do
it, this was the man!

Raveneau snapped orders like gunshots. The
Black Eagle
paced herself gracefully, moving to leeward as
she sailed. He watched the approaching enemy with sharp silver eyes
that seemed to cut through the night fog. When the
Black
Eagle
was exactly two ship-lengths ahead, he gave the order to
shiver the sails, and instantly the sheets of white canvas were
laid flat against the masts, spilling the wind.

The
Black Eagle
swerved abruptly to
starboard, directly in the path of the British frigate. The two
ships collided, wood splintered, and the
Black Eagle
shuddered violently.

The frigate found her bowsprit and jib gear
hopelessly tangled in the privateer's foremast and in the shrouds
which ran from the masthead to the
Black Eagle's
sides. It
was impossible for the British to board over their own bowsprit and
through the nets which Raveneau had ordered put up.