Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1) (34 page)

It was time for the story she read to Louisa
each afternoon, and she found the little girl waiting impatiently
on the edge of Devon's bed. Sitting down beside her, Devon put a
hand out to stroke the child's ginger curls and suddenly felt a
powerful yearning for Raveneau. She let the feeling soak in as she
closed her eyes and saw his harsh, splendid face. If he were only
here, holding her, kissing away her tears, whispering huskily
against her ear...

"Devon!" Louisa implored. "Here! I've brought
the book."

Opening her eyes, Devon faced the reality
sharing this bed in Raveneau's place. A sweet, bewildered little
girl who needed a father... and an innocent baby not yet born.

* * *

One sunny morning, still early in April, a
bold little sloop skimmed over the horizon and headed straight for
the island. Elsa, her children, Louisa, and Devon watched from one
of the turrets, beaming with pleasure as the craft approached.
Mild, perfumed breezes blew up from the trees.

Devon and Elsa decided to take the children
down to the beach when it became clear that the sloop was anchoring
in the cove. "It will probably be another of Andre's mistresses,"
Devon remarked with wry humor. "Perhaps an entire boatload!"

Elsa gave a snort of laughter.

Suddenly Devon gasped in astonishment. A
woman had appeared at the rail, and she was waving and screaming
something unintelligible. "It's Azalea!" Devon explained as a jolly
boat was lowered. "She is Halsey Minter's sister."

"Who?"

"Minter! Andre's steward."

"Hmmm." Elsa narrowed her eyes at the boat.
"She has been here before, I think."

Devon laughed, glad that she was able to.
"Now that you mention it, I suppose I was right about the visitor
being one of Andre's mistresses! He may very well have brought her
here a few years ago. But now she is married... to the fair-haired
man beside her in the boat. She is no threat, Elsa, but in truth a
dear friend!"

As the jolly boat skidded onto the beach,
Devon was there to embrace an excited Azalea. She gave Isaac a hug
and somehow managed to introduce the hopping children, while Azalea
talked without a moment's pause. Arm in arm, the two women started
up the path to the house, and as soon as they had put some distance
between themselves and the others, Azalea demanded, "What is
this!?
I am speechless, Devon!"

"You? Indeed?"

"Don't tease! It must be Andre's child—?"

"Yes. Yes, of course it is! The only other
man who ever tempted me was the Blue Jay, but I resisted, and of
course I was already pregnant when I met him."

Azalea coughed nervously. "Devon, are you all
right? I'll wager you are frantic! Andre—"

"Andre doesn't know. I wasn't aware myself
until the
Black Eagle
left. And I am fine. Blooming, as they
say. I have my share of worries, but I am trying to focus my
attention on the baby." Devon's smile was eloquent. "But wait! You
breeze in here as though we lived just around the corner! What has
brought you and Isaac all this way?"

Azalea put her off until they were able to
retreat to Devon's bedchamber. Eugenie and Souchet were standing in
the entryway, but Devon made casual introductions and led her
friend up the stairs. Elsa was promising to find something for
Isaac to eat and drink, and he smiled indulgently at his wife,
waving to her as she bustled off with Devon.

It was obvious that Azalea had been here
before. She didn't bat an eye when Devon opened the door to her
bedchamber, but went right on chattering.

"Andre brought you here, didn't he?" Devon
accused with mock outrage.

"Oh, yes. After we first met—you know, when
he rescued me from that British warship. I can't say I am
particularly thrilled to return."

Devon settled down beside her on the sofa.
"Do you know, I was so overwhelmed when we first arrived... it
seemed like a castle out of a fairy tale. But all the gold and
velvet and beautiful paintings in the world can't begin to
substitute for love. This house has begun to seem almost evil—"

There was a gleam in Azalea's doe eyes. "You
know what they say about Andre..."

"Oh, stop. Besides, he doesn't like this
house at all. I think he avoids it."

"That's right, I remember now. Something
about his father and a mistress."

Devon thought about asking Azalea what she
knew about Veronique's death, but before she could speak, her
friend exclaimed, "I am dying to know who that stunning woman
downstairs is! A new housekeeper?"

"I wish that she were." Briefly, Devon
related the events of the winter, including her suspicions about
Louisa and her uneasiness concerning Eugenie and Souchet. Finally,
they turned the conversation back to the reason for Azalea and
Isaac's sea voyage.

"Isaac's grandfather died a year ago, in
England," Azalea said. But because of the war, nothing has been
done about his estate. My father-in-law is the sole heir, and he
received another letter last month from the executor, urging him to
come and hinting at a surprisingly large estate. So he asked if
Isaac could do this errand. Isaac is his father's heir, of
course."

Devon knew what a windfall could mean to
their farm and she hugged Azalea excitedly. "Oh, how wonderful for
you! Such an adventure—sailing to England—and a chance to fulfill
your dreams for the farm when you return."

"And, best of all, I am happier with Isaac
than I ever thought I could be."

"You've given up pining for Andre?"

"As a matter of fact, I believe I have!"

Devon let out an exaggerated sigh. "Whew!
There's
one
rival I can cross off the list!"

They giggled and chatted about the war, the
Minters, Devon's pregnancy, her sewing projects, and Elsa. Finally,
as their stomachs began to cry for luncheon, they leaned back
against the sofa and looked at each other.

"It is so good to be with you." Devon smiled
warmly. "You have cheered me greatly."

"Wonderful. I could ask nothing more. I only
wish we could remain longer than one day."

"I am glad for that much. And... Andre will
be here very soon. The suspense will be over."

Azalea dropped her eyes, plucking nervously
at her muslin skirt. "Devon, hasn't it occurred to you that I might
have word from the
Black Eagle?"

"Yes. It has."

"The ship was in South Carolina last month,
and Halsey managed to visit the farm for a few hours on the way
back. He had some news for you."

"Yes?"

"Well, the
Black Eagle
was to sail to
the Indies next, hoping to take a good prize, then return to New
London. Do you know, they have taken four ships this winter! At any
rate, there have been terrible stories circulating, about one of
the largest British prison ships anchored off Long Island.
Beatings, starvation..."

"Yes?"

"Halsey told me that Raveneau means to attack
it when they get back to New London. It's a very dangerous
proposition, and it will also delay their return to the island by a
fortnight or more. Halsey said you should not look for them until
May... or later."

"Andre could be killed," Devon whispered
hollowly.

"Well, you know he takes those risks every
day."

"It’s not the same..." Blankly, she looked
into Azalea's wary eyes. "Tell me the truth. Did Andre come with
Minter to the farm?"

"Actually... yes. He wanted to see Mama and
Pa."

"He knew you would be coming to see me?"

Azalea could only nod reluctantly.

"He sent no letter? No message at all?"

For a brief moment Azalea considered lying,
but Devon's gaze was too penetrating. She dropped her eyes and
muttered, "No... nothing."

* * *

Raveneau sat down on the Queen Anne
four-poster to pull on his boots and Isabelle was behind him in an
instant, her soft, pale arms wrapped around his chest. He could
feel the pressure of firm breasts against his back, but continued
to dress.

"Andre!" she implored. "Why do you rush away
from me? Did I disappoint you?"

Groaning, Raveneau turned to face her and
tried to resist her golden-haired charms. "I have other matters to
attend to." She was rubbing against him, smiling wickedly into his
flinty eyes. "You know that you did not disappoint me. Stop that! I
must go."

"One more kiss, Andre. Please! I have missed
you so. I have been so hungry and I am not yet satisfied."

She nibbled at his stubborn mouth until he
relented and opened it to her kiss. Her passion was almost cloying,
though, and he finally took her arms and roughly disengaged.

“No more, I said. I must go.” Standing up, he
buttoned his shirt.

“But, when will I see you again?”

He sighed. “Frankly, I have no idea.”

Moments later, Raveneau emerged from the
small house to find that dusk was upon the town of New London. He
thought of all he had meant to do this day and cursed his own
weakness. What he hated most was a nagging prod of guilt in the
recesses of his mind. There was no good cause for it! That cursed
Minter had put it into his mind. Raveneau started to walk toward
the Beach, inspiring caution and fear from the passersby who
encountered his stormy-looking eyes.

It was impossible to dismiss the argument he
and Minter had had that morning. Minter, his damned steward, daring
to offer advice–and not for the first time! It was intolerable!

That morning, a gloomy Minter had watched him
dress while assembling the breakfast dishes to return them to the
galley. Finally he’d said, "Excuse me, sir, but I think it is wrong
for you to go to that woman."

How the hell had he known? And Raveneau gave
himself away by retorting, "When I want your advice, I'll ask for
it."

"I am Devon's friend, as well as your
steward," Minter had replied, offended.

"Devon!"
Raveneau had shouted
irritably. "Are we married? Did I miss something? And even if we
were, that chit is hundreds of miles away."

"I suppose I am rather old-fashioned, sir. I
believe in commitments and trust when two people are in love."

"Damn! You speak as if you were my
maman!"
Raveneau had blazed. "And all that is beside the
point. I sure as hell am not in love with your wondrous Devon!"

"If you say so, sir."

"Minter, you have been with me for more than
six years. What is the reason for this sudden attack of
morals?"

"Sir, to be honest, I believe that you love
Devon Lindsay very much, and I know that she loves you. I think you
would rest easier tonight if you could admit this and remain
faithful to her. If you sleep with another woman, it will tarnish
what Devon has given to you as her gift of love."

"Arretez!"
Raveneau had roared. "This
gift of love, as you so charmingly term it, may well have come to
me secondhand, and as for
trust!
You are a fool, Minter.
Women are useful in many ways, but I trust no one but myself, and
thus am never disillusioned. The women who seem most vulnerable and
innocent are the worst kind. If you relinquish even a portion of
yourself to such a female, you are destined to be hurt."

"Captain, I hesitate to say this... but I
feel that
you
are the fool in this case."

Stalking now through the cool spring
twilight, Raveneau seethed at the memory. The insolent pup! Part of
him still wished he had tossed the boy into the Thames and ordered
him never to show his face again.

He had enough problems. His mind had no
business straying from the plan to attack the prison ship. It had
to succeed; failure might well cost him his life.

Turning the corner of Union Street, Raveneau
experienced an unsettling feeling. As he walked, he stared hard at
the cobblestones and burned buildings and houses, trying to piece
together an elusive memory, trying to put both Devon and Minter out
of his mind.

Yet... this ash-pink light lent itself to
remembered visions, and there had been many nights disturbed by
vivid dreams these past months. Dreams of silky, flame-gold hair
coiled around his neck, of sapphire eyes that drew him in no matter
how he resisted, of enchanting, mischievous laughter.

A man on horseback trotted by and Raveneau
stepped aside. Alert again, he looked around at the houses and
shops; the horse's hooves had touched off another spark of
memory.

What could it be? Frustrated, he concentrated
harder. He walked on, following the curve of the lane that led
toward the Beach, his eyes drinking in the scene as he struggled to
call forth the face that tugged at his mind. A girl—young,
guileless, candid. Seventeen? Eighteen? Red hair... auburn?
Self-conscious.

Ah, yes! The girl he had met at Nicholson's
house and accompanied back to the Bank. A carriage ride along this
same route in the midst of just such a sunset. She had been a minx!
Raveneau recalled that she had spoken of reading
Joseph
Andrews,
or perhaps
Tom Jones.
He squinted now, trying
to conjure up a clear image of her face, but remembered instead the
dried leaf caught in her tousled curls, the impudent breasts
outlined by a faded blue gown, and the most captivating manner and
smile. It had been wrong of him to kiss so young a girl, but her
nearness in the carriage had been bewitching. Those deep blue eyes,
dusky cheeks, and lips that intoxicated with their sweetness...

Raveneau froze in the middle of Church
Street. People and horses passed on either side, but he stared into
the dipping coral sun in dazed disbelief.

"Devon.
Devon."

"Say what?" an old man inquired
helpfully.

Raveneau clenched his fists, unaware of the
voice or of the confusion that swirled around him as people hurried
home at the end of the working day. It seemed inconceivable that he
could have failed to remember Devon when they had met on the
Black Eagle.
Had the hectic tension of the day been to
blame? The fact that she had worn breeches? Over and over, he
recalled how she had been that day and the heady innocence of her
kiss.
Mon Dieu!
The little chit even slapped me! Smiling, he
put a hand to his jaw.