Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1) (37 page)

When the cabin door opened, Devon looked up,
expecting to find Jeannette but discovering Morgan instead. It
seemed to her that his arms and legs were longer and thinner than
ever. He had sprouted to a respectable height, but his shoulders
hadn't grown since adolescence

"Hello, Morgan. It's nice to see you."

"You are well? I've been occupied—"

"We're fine." In truth, his infrequent
appearances made her nervous. The only conversation that she wished
to have with him concerned New London, but he had an irritating
habit of smirking secretively and refusing to give her any news at
all.

Mouette tried one of her winning smiles on
Morgan, but he looked away uneasily.

"For a man who speaks of becoming this
child's father, you certainly don't act very enthusiastic!" Devon
sat up and reached for Mouette. "Here—why don't you hold her?"

"No. I'd really rather not. My shirt is
soiled."

Devon shrugged and kissed her baby's round
cheek. Morgan took a seat next to the fold-down table, opened his
mouth as if to speak, then closed it. Devon watched his eyes shift
over the floor, saw the gleam that came into them, and knew where
his thoughts were. So! He had made another visit to look at
Raveneau's mistress and child and taste the full sweetness of his
revenge.

Devon was more certain than ever that she
could never share her future with Morgan. Somehow, together, she
and Mouette would find a way to survive. She would never become
like Deborah—her child would come first and she would never let
Mouette forget how much she was loved.

"Morgan..." Devon murmured uneasily. "I
feel—"

"Excusez-moi, mam'selle,"
Jeannette
interrupted, pushing open the door with her hip. As the girl
crossed the cabin to deposit the tray on the table, she dropped her
eyes and smiled shyly at Morgan.

"Bonjour, Capitaine."

"Captain!" Devon echoed, eyes wide with mock
awe.

Morgan ignored her gibe. "Hello, Jeanette. I
trust you are well today?"

Devon stared as he assumed a gruff pose,
lowering his voice to amusing depths. Jeanette, however, was not
amused. Her blush darkened as she nervously clasped and unclasped
her hands and, rendered speechless, nodded in response to his
question.

One of Devon's delicate eyebrows curved up.
An interesting scene! It would seem that Jeanette might be the
solution to all her future problems with Morgan!

The silence was broken by a scuffing on the
deck above, followed by the appearance of the unsavory-looking
first mate.

"Cap'n! A ship is bearin' down fast, due
south!"

Devon let Morgan rush out, then made a quick
decision. She was dressed much differently than in the old days on
the
Black Eagle.
Her gown of cream silk was striped in a
vivid blue, a shade softer than the sapphire of her eyes. The
neckline dipped to reveal the curve of her breasts, and she looked
every inch a lady.

Yet, despite her more mature femininity and
her maternal practicality, her blood heated up at the prospect of a
clash at sea. Morgan wouldn't have the faintest idea what to
do!

"Jeanette, I want you to stay right here in
this cabin, with Mouette. Please sit down." When the girl obeyed,
Devon put the baby in her arms. "Don't move until someone comes and
tells you otherwise.
Comprends-tu?"

"Oui, mam'selle."

Devon started for the door, pausing to glance
back briefly at the frightened-looking maid. As the ship dipped to
the starboard side, Mouette crowed gleefully, and Devon smiled as
she turned into the narrow, stinking gangway. In moments she was
hoisting her skirts with one hand and pulling herself through the
hatch. On the tiny quarter-deck, Morgan stood out like a third
mast, clutching the rail.

Devon looked around. Behind them, like a
dark, white-winged avenging angel, was the
Black Eagle.
The
figurehead loomed over them, noble and demonic at once, black wings
arched. For a moment Devon was paralyzed. What was Raveneau
doing?

She swung around. The men, such as they were,
scrambled about crazily. Morgan was totally unstrung.

Devon forced herself to think only of the
present. Coolly, she lifted her silk gown and petticoats and walked
to the larboard rail. The
Black Eagle
sliced through the
scalloped blue waves like a sword; it was barely two ship-lengths
behind now, and Devon recognized familiar figures in the
rigging.

Turning her head, she saw Morgan choking and
shouting at the red-faced, drunken boatswain at the wheel. They
could not outrun the
Black Eagle,
nor was there any question
of fighting. The pitiful ketch had no armament—her men had nothing
but their knives and possibly a pistol or two.

Devon stood silently at the rail and watched
as the
Black Eagle
drew alongside. Although she remained
composed on the outside, her heart beat frantically and chills ran
down her spine when she saw Raveneau. He stood on the
Black
Eagle’s
quarter-deck, starboard side, leaning forward
confidently, hands on the rail to brace his lean, powerful
body.

Their eyes met, glittering; neither showed
the slightest expression.

Devon's stomach knotted and she felt a wild
desire to weep. Oh, it was unfair that he should affect her so! She
had forgotten this sudden twinge between her thighs, but it
returned now, convulsively, prompted merely by the sight of him
from afar. He was harsh and splendid, clad in knee boots, buff
breeches that skimmed his hard thighs, and a plain shirt that
showed half of his broad, dark chest.

She stood there, frozen, as the
Black
Eagle
grappled the smaller ketch, and two dozen well-trained
privateersmen swarmed over the side and lined the deck, weapons
poised.

Morgan trembled with impotent rage. He
cowered against the stern rail when Raveneau, his rapier flashing
in the sun, landed with easy grace on the deck. Realizing that
Morgan would not meet him, Raveneau arched a dark, cynical eyebrow
and walked as far as the mainmast.

"Capitaine!"
he shouted mockingly in
French. "The
Black Eagle
demands that you surrender!"

Devon turned, hands clasping the rail behind
her back. Though she did not think he looked in her direction,
Raveneau was well aware of the lovely picture she made, breasts
swelling against the bodice of a fashionable gown. Almost casually,
he moved in her direction, and without meeting her gaze, he reached
out with a bronzed hand to grip her arm.

"I have no desire for your sad-looking crew
or ship,
Capitaine,"
Raveneau continued. "I will take this
female and leave you to your business."

"I refuse to abandon her to such a savage!"
Morgan shouted shakily.

"Ah, I see!" Raveneau was grinning now, and
Devon's bones had long since melted. "Do you challenge me? Where is
your rapier?" He slanted his own weapon toward Morgan.

"But... I—"

"Morgan, don't be a fool! Jeanette will
comfort you, and I certainly won't hold you responsible!" Devon
cried. "You did your best, and I will always remember that. Let me
go with Captain Raveneau."

Morgan bowed in silent surrender, while
Raveneau whispered, "A most inspiring speech,
petite chatte.
It would seem that you've convinced him!"

Still gripping her arm, he turned to leave
the ketch, but Devon stopped after two steps, eyes blazing and
nostrils flaring. "If you please, I will not go anywhere without my
daughter!" She pulled her arm free and headed toward the hatch.

Raveneau watched her, noting the stubborn set
of her shoulders and head. She had changed, there was no doubt, and
his instincts told him that the sparks would fly between them with
more frenzy than ever.

* * *

The instant her silk-slippered feet touched
the deck of the
Black Eagle,
Devon's divided heart grew
together again. Mouette lay snuggled in her arms, Raveneau stood
beside them, and returning to this ship was like coming home.

She narrowed blue eyes at Raveneau. "You are
a villainous pirate."

"Your flattery is music to my ears." He
frowned at Wheaton and all the others who stood beaming and gawking
at Devon. "Which of you knows how to hold a baby?"

Devon tightened her grip on the sleeping
bundle. "I will not leave Mouette."

"Oh!
Mouette!"
Raveneau's tone
suggested to Devon that he believed the worst about the
pregnancy.

"Where is Minter? I might entrust her to
him—for a few minutes."

"Minter is busy, and in case you've
forgotten, you are my prisoner, mademoiselle."

Treasel darted forward. "I know a bit about
babes," he offered. Devon had no choice. Grudgingly, she put
Mouette in his arms and let Raveneau pull her down the hatch to his
cabin.

The moment he closed the door, Devon exploded
like a well-loaded cannon. "You arrogant, swaggering,
vile—
man!
I cannot believe that you—"

"How dare you leave that island without even
showing me the courtesy of a personal explanation?" Raveneau
interrupted coldly.

"Courtesy! Ha, ha! That is certainly not one
of
your
virtues!"

"I do not run from confrontation like a
cowardly rabbit, nor do I seek help from rodents who are even more
cowardly. Did you imagine that I would eat your child for breakfast
in my rage?"

His voice was deadly calm. They faced each
other, standing a dozen feet apart, eyes locked in combat.

"I see! Tell me, Captain, what do you think
about my daughter? Do you suppose that she was already hidden in my
belly when Caleb brought me to the
Black Eagle?
Perhaps you
suspect that
he
was her father?"

Raveneau leaned back against the door. "The
notion has occurred to me."

"Oooh... you make me furious!"

"Please, don't strike me," Raveneau
taunted.

Devon strode over to him, burning with
outrage. "You are a fool! You don't know me at all!"

"Dear Devon, it has been my experience that
the moment a man believes he understands a woman, that is when he
is usually the furthest from the truth."

"Fool!" she repeated vehemently. "Do you
actually think I am like Veronique? Have I been
acting
all
these months? And you are an even greater fool if you think that my
pregnancy was more than one-third over when we were together last!
My belly was as flat the day we said goodbye on the beach as it was
the night you took my maidenhood in this very cabin!" She was
screaming now, and didn't care.

Raveneau stared, his eyes sharpened silver,
and strong hands reached out to catch her wrists. "Do you hear what
you are saying? Even we fools know how much time elapses between
conception and birth. Are you asking me to believe you over simple
mathematics?"

"Yes!" Tears sparkled in her eyes. Her softly
elegant coiffure had begun to tumble down, and she looked more like
the minx Raveneau was used to. His stare seemed to penetrate to her
very soul.

"All right," he whispered. "I believe
you."

They moved together slowly until their mouths
touched in a wondering, salty kiss. Devon felt faint as his fingers
slipped into her hair and warm lips grazed the line of her
cheekbone and brow. Suddenly she began to weep in earnest.

"What is it?"

"You don't remember me!" she burbled, her
hurt exposed at last.

"What madness is this? Remember you! Do you
imagine that I am holding a stranger?"

"No! I mean
really
remember—the first
time we met."

Raveneau savored the scene. Deliberately, he
played at bewilderment, narrowing his eyes at the bulkhead, rubbing
a knuckle over the scar on his jaw. Devon's tears stopped. Hands on
hips, she fumed.

"Hmmm," he mused. "I gather you do not refer
to our introduction last September... so you must have in mind that
afternoon in October of 1780. You came into Nicholson's library,
wearing a blue dress and a leaf in your hair—and later you seduced
me in the carriage."

"Seduced you!
I
seduced
you?
How dare—"

Devon stopped short at the sight of his face.
She had never seen his eyes flash quite so mischievously, or so
lovingly. "You make a jest of my feelings."

"I have missed you. I like to see all your
facets; you are as priceless as the most brilliant diamond. Very
nearly a miracle—a beautiful, brave, intelligent, witty female who
is totally without guile."

Devon could scarcely believe her ears. "Are
you serious?"

"Absolutely." He stared at her, gently
running his hands over her hips, waist, breasts, arms, shoulders,
and neck. When they reached her delicate face, deft fingers slid
into rose-gold hair and he bent to kiss her with a stirring
tenderness that she hadn't thought him capable of. "Devon, I love
you."

"I... but... have you been drinking?"

Raveneau threw back his head and shouted with
laughter before swinging her up into his arms. Several minutes
passed as they lay across the familiar bed, kissing and touching
with hungry elation. Devon's lovely silk gown was nearly removed
before she remembered a small detail.

"Andre... I don't think I should. It has been
only three weeks since Mouette was born... I'm still tender.
Perhaps in a few days?"

She looked terribly disappointed herself, and
Raveneau mustered all his understanding while trying to subdue the
more obvious proof of his desire. "We have waited this long, I do
not mind a few more days. It is enough—almost!—to hold you in my
arms and taste, touch, smell you..." He buried his face in her
hair, and they kissed again, tongues teasing playfully. With a
sigh, Raveneau tried to endure.

"I can't believe that you really remember..."
Devon murmured.