Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1)

by Cynthia Wright

  He poured some cognac for himself, then turned to look her up and down. Devon pretended shyness, hunching her shoulders and surveying her stockinged feet.

  "Shoes?" Raveneau asked, as though wishing he could ignore their absence.

  "I forgot." Devon strove for a masculine voice.

  "In the future, I think you should remember."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Now then, James, let me explain what I require of you. My steward is ill—tonight's cooking, I fear—and to avoid utter chaos in my cabin, I would like to employ you until he is well. I do not foresee any sea battles or injuries for a few days, so it would seem that you are the perfect choice."

  Devon rubbed her toes restlessly against the buffed floor.

  "You behave like a bashful child!" Raveneau exclaimed sharply. "I have no patience for men who can neither speak nor move without instructions. I suggest that you straighten your back and attempt to convince me you are a worthy addition to my crew."

  Shakily Devon raised her head, but knew better than to throw back her shoulders. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry. I want to be a part of the Black Eagle more than I can say."

  Raveneau gazed long and hard at his new surgeon's mate and substitute steward. There was an alarming softness in his husky voice, and his body and face were fragile-looking. Such large, luminous eyes!

  "How old are you, James?"

  "Uh... fifteen, sir."

  "I have a feeling that sea life may be exactly what you need!"

  Devon's face grew warm. "I am afraid that I spent too much time in my father's office, watching him and reading medical books." What am I saying? she thought hysterically.

  "I suppose that will be our gain, James. But, for the present, there are other matters on my mind. We will be at sea before dawn and there are things I want done before then. Minter was boiling water for my bath when he became ill. I want you to finish that task, prepare my bath, then see to it that the stores of fresh water are replenished before we weigh anchor. It may be a long while before we've access to fresh water again, and I don't like to ration my men."

  "Pardon me, sir, but I'd always heard that was necessary."

  "James, you will find that I have some rather unorthodox policies." Raveneau smiled slightly, but his eyes remained flinty, tired-looking. "I wish there was time to chat about all of them, but unfortunately—"

  Devon blushed, all too aware of his sarcasm.

  "Sir, where will I find this water for your bath?" She looked around. "Also, is there a tub here?"

  "The water is heated in the galley, the tub is in the wardroom." He smiled. "All the officers share it, though few have time for real baths. Luckily, I don't need much sleep, so I am able to indulge in some luxuries."

  Devon longed to banter with him, but she realized that until they were at sea, her position was extremely precarious.

  "I'll go, then, sir," she declared, backing away. He made no reply but continued to watch her, so she offered a clumsy salute, backing into the doorjamb at the same time.

  Raveneau grinned, his teeth as white as a tiger's, eyes sparkling silver. "Fortunately, that gesture is not required on board the Black Eagle," he told her, highly amused. Devon's face was burning. She stared at her stockinged feet as he added irrepressibly, "James, I hope you won't be offended if I say that it is my ardent hope never to lie under your knife!"

  Devon found the wooden tub, dragged it out of the darkened wardroom and back through the open cabin door. Raveneau's good humor had vanished. He now sat at his desk, poring over papers and making notations. Devon shrugged and set off for the galley, which was located just aft of the crew's quarters. The wooden buckets held at least five gallons of the steaming water, she discovered, which splashed over the sides and onto her feet as she staggered along. It was a mystery to her why any man as intelligent as the captain would choose a little weakling to fill his bath! Didn't he realize how difficult it would be? Or was he just so preoccupied with his own comfort and worries that he had no time to think of anyone else?

  Perspiring, she upended the fourth bucket and watched with relief as the water level rose. One or two more would be enough. Devon almost growled at the wide shoulders bent over the desk, their owner totally oblivious to her suffering as he labored over a chart, aided by a handsome brass protractor.

  I'll fill just one more, she decided angrily. Let him get more if he wants it!

  Arms quivering, she lugged the fifth bucketful along the starboard gangway. Her breeches and shoeless feet were soaked by the time she staggered into the cabin, close to tears. She glanced up and found the tub occupied by Captain Raveneau.

  He was completely naked, his tanned, muscular back wet and gleaming in the candlelight. Absorbed in the task of washing, he didn't bother to look up and missed the sight of Devon weaving sideways into the wall, her eyes round with alarmed surprise.

  "Will you hurry with that water, James? I'd begun to think you were ladling it into the bucket with a teaspoon!" he shouted, looking over his shoulder with steely eyes. "I am freezing!"

  Devon's knees were wobbly, but she commanded them to move and reached the tub. It took all her remaining strength to lift the bucket high enough to pour. Raveneau sighed with pleasure as the steamy water encircled his body; then he frowned and re- soaped his sponge.

  "You are as slow as an old woman. I'm not certain that there is a place for you in my crew."

  Devon came to life. "Oh, sir, no, please! I will work hard, I promise you! Don't put me off—I have no place to go!"

  "James, if I took on every homeless boy roaming this coast, I would not have much of a crew."

  "Please, give me a chance!"

  Her earnest expression deepened his scowl. "You even plead like a female," he muttered. "Make yourself useful, then, and wash my back."

  Aghast, Devon felt the soapy sponge drop into her hand. He had propped a large map in the chair nearby and now turned his attention to it, while Devon found herself staring at the brown expanse of back that tapered into narrow hips and hard buttocks below the waterline. Never in her life had she seen, much less touched, a man's unclothed body, but before the captain could reprimand her again, she reached out to rub the sponge over his skin.

  Fleetingly, the face of the soldier who had tried to rape her jumped into her mind, yet Devon could make no connection between him and Captain Raveneau. Of course, she would not want any man to touch her as Smythe had, but there seemed little danger now that she was dressed as a boy! She rubbed the sponge from side to side, watching the soapy rivulets trickle over the lean ridges of Raveneau's back. A splendidly made man, she mused, then chided herself for such an audacious thought. He turned to retrieve the sponge and Devon scrambled to her feet, standing awkwardly to one side as he ducked his head under the water. He rubbed soap into his hair; dark hands were lost in the suds. Devon saw that his eyes were closed and she let herself stare at him, memorizing every chiseled line. She glanced down briefly at the dark blur in the water below his waist, then blushed so profusely that she had to press her cheek against the cool, damp bulkhead.

  Raveneau finished rinsing his hair. Devon looked around for towels and found soft linen ones folded on top of his trunk, elegantly monogrammed. He stood up in the wooden tub, and she glimpsed a lean, tanned, and powerful body with a great deal of black hair on it.

  Taking the towels, Raveneau said in a voice both tired and abrupt, "Go to bed. We will weigh anchor in a few hours."

  "Yes, sir. Good night, sir."

  "Report to me after we are at sea. I'm afraid Minter won't have recovered by tomorrow."

  "Yes, sir." Devon was feeling more relaxed since he had wrapped a towel around his waist. "Good night. And thank you."

  "Don't thank me," he admonished, vigorously rubbing a towel over his gleaming black hair. "Just prove to me that you can work like any other man on board the Black Eagle."

  Making her way back to the crew's quarters, Devon became aware of the full extent of her exhaustion. Every muscle ac
hed, along with her head, eyes, and heart. She glanced into the dark galley in passing and saw a shadowy body. Long arms, groping hands, surrounded her, but she managed to let out a healthy scream before a palm closed over her mouth and she was dragged into the darkness. Devon had never felt so tired and weak; her struggles were ridiculously ineffectual. The stranger pressed her into a corner and began to pull wildly at her clothing. One knee jabbed the intimate places that had already been abused once that day, while fingers rubbed her breasts, now unbound. Devon heard her shirt tear. She felt warm tears sliding down her cheeks onto the hand that covered her mouth.

  "Mon Dieu! What is going on here?"

  There was light. Devon could see Captain Raveneau through a mist of tears, then she saw her attacker. It was the boy who had been standing watch and had helped her over the rail. Stunned and frightened, he released Devon. Raveneau caught her as she fell. The last thing Devon remembered was his arm under her breasts and a startled, enraged shout.

  "It's a girl! Damnation! Who is responsible for this?"

  * * *

  The cabin was spinning, then dipping gently, and Devon opened her eyes. Cool linen caressed her cheek. She could smell... what, whom? She smiled, closing her eyes again. Raveneau. From far away voices came to her.

  "This time you've gone too far, Jackson. You've cut your own throat. I don't know why I let you by with so many breaches of conduct in the past, but never again. Yorktown will be your last stop."

  "Captain Raveneau, you must try to understand!" It was Caleb's voice, ingratiating yet edged with panic. "The poor child. Her parents are both dead now, her home destroyed. You wouldn't have wanted me to leave her there for the redcoats?"

  "I wanted you on board today, where you were supposed to be!" Raveneau's voice was dangerously low. "God's life, Jackson, I cannot run this ship like a mother hen! You knew my rules when you signed on, yet you've flouted them time and time again."

  "I promise, Captain—"

  "Spare me," Raveneau interrupted in a venomous tone. "I hope you read the Articles of Agreement well before signing on? They specifically state that any man behaving indecently toward a woman shall lose his shares and receive whatever punishment I see fit to administer. However, since you placed the temptation before him, I shall let Greenbriar keep his one meager share. He'll stand on deck with you tomorrow and take five lashes, though."

  There was a long, tension-laden pause. Devon struggled to clear her mind and make sense of this conversation.

  "What of me, sir? How many lashes will I receive?" Caleb was asking.

  "Five. You will lose your shares as well, Jackson, and leave the ship when we reach Yorktown. If you cause trouble in the meantime, I'll put you adrift at sea. Understood?"

  "Yes, sir," Caleb said acidly.

  "That's all. Tell Mr. Lane I want to see him."

  Devon listened to the receding footsteps and tried to ascertain whether or not the Black Eagle was underway yet. Was it morning? Were they at sea? Or had only a short while passed? Did Raveneau intend to put her ashore? She kept her eyes closed and listened. The cabin swayed to and fro, but Devon was certain the privateer was not moving forward. She cautiously opened one eye and peeked through a haze of lashes. The cabin was dark, except for the lantern which hung over Raveneau's desk. So it was still night He was sitting in the leather wing chair, garbed in a gray, soft-looking dressing gown. Devon strained her eye; it appeared that Raveneau wore nothing beneath his robe. He was holding a fresh snifter of cognac, his tanned, handsome legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Abruptly he turned his head and stared hard at Devon; she squeezed the eye closed.

  "Eh bien. Are you awake?" Raveneau crossed the cabin and leaned over her. "Damn, what did Jackson say her name is?" he muttered. "Wake up, petite chatte."

  Across the cabin, someone coughed. "Excuse me, Captain."

  "Come in, Mr. Lane. Have you heard what has happened?"

  "Bits and pieces, sir."

  Devon heard Raveneau walk toward the other voice, and reopened her eye a fraction. Mr. Lane must be the first officer, she guessed. Raveneau had paused to light a cheroot, and now he paced back and forth across the cabin, glancing her way so frequently that Devon decided to be safe and close her eyes completely.

  "That damned Jackson reappeared a few hours ago and, like a fool, I let him come aboard. After I returned to my cabin, he apparently sneaked this female on—had her in the crew's quarters, no less, wearing pants and a red cap! Told me she was a surgeon's mate!" His voice grew more harsh with each sentence. "Minter is ill, so I went over to the crew's quarters' to recruit someone to take his place. This little hooligan prepared my bath! No wonder it took so long!"

  Devon swallowed a bubble of laughter.

  "Jackson tells me he had confided this plot only to the men on watch, so that they would help him get her on board. That drooling pup Greenbriar came below and waylaid the girl as she passed the galley."

  "Was that the scream I heard?" Lane inquired expressionlessly, as though they were discussing wind directions.

  "Yes. She had just left here. I had been suspicious about her... but I'll admit I didn't guess she was actually a girl. When I saw the new 'surgeon's mate' with Greenbriar, I thought we had a different sort of problem."

  Raveneau stopped next to Lane, and now they lowered their voices so that Devon could only make out snatches of their conversation.

  After a minute or two Mr. Lane said in a clear, stiff voice, "As you wish, sir."

  Devon heard him leave. The silence that followed made her uncomfortable. There was not a sigh or a scrape or a step. Had they both gone? She counted to one hundred. Nothing but the sound of water sloshing against the Black Eagle's hull. Cautiously, Devon opened one eye a fraction. There was no sign of him. She decided to shift positions. With a dramatic moan, she stretched and rolled slowly onto her side. Another peek from this new angle. He was not in the leather chair or at the desk or table. He must have gone out with Lane, his bare feet making no sound.

  The corner of her mouth had been itching torturously for minutes, and now she lifted a hand to scratch it. Lean fingers appeared out of nowhere to grasp her own.

  "How long have you been awake?" Raveneau demanded.

  Devon craned her neck and found him towering over her head, his gray eyes steely. She scrambled to her knees, ready to do verbal battle, and was horrified to see her torn shirt come open, exposing impudent breasts. Blushing, she pulled it together and retorted, "I was only hoping to avoid being put ashore!"

  "I suppose you never fainted at all."

  "That is not so!"

  "Sit down. You look ridiculous."

  "How dare you say that? You look quite ridiculous yourself with your legs showing!"

  Raveneau blinked as though unable to believe his ears; then the barest suggestion of a smile bent one side of his mouth. "You are the first female who has ever mocked my legs. In fact—"

  "Oh, yes, Sir Privateer, no doubt all women praise you endlessly, but not, I hope, after you have described them as ridiculous!"

  He perched on the edge of his table, handsome calves dangling, and smoked for a moment in silence. Devon sat, and drew the linen sheet and silk comforter up to cover as much of her body as possible. Her strawberry-blond curls had been freed, but she was beginning to suspect that Andre Raveneau didn't recognize her. He seemed to have no memory of their earlier meeting, or of the enchanting kiss they had shared in Nick's carriage. This realization hurt her more than she could admit, even to herself. Those few minutes they had spent alone together, when he had awakened her deepest passions with one kiss, had filled her dreams and fantasies for a year.

  She glowered at him. Raveneau's own anger was being replaced by puzzled curiosity. He had expected the girl to weep and plead, perhaps pretend to faint again or even offer him her body in an effort to persuade him to let her stay. Instead, she glared at him with what appeared to be undisguised hatred!

  "I find I am confused; perhaps you can
enlighten me. Didn't you want to remain on the Black Eagle?"

  "Yes!" she spat.

  "Then why are you insulting me and behaving as if you would like to murder me?" His tone was conversational.

  "I dislike your intimidating manner... sir." Desperately Devon tried to stifle some of her rage. He was right; she would find herself in Norwich if she didn't change her tactics.

  "I am the captain, mademoiselle. It is my prerogative to be intimidating." He was half amused by now.

  Devon sighed loudly. It helped. "I am sorry. I do have an excuse, of sorts. You see, I've been attacked twice today, and I am not feeling very charitable toward men in general."

  Raveneau's eyes narrowed. "This happened in New London?"

  "Yes." She stared down at her hands, which were twisted tightly together. "Two... two redcoats came. One took my mother upstairs, the other kept me on the first floor. He... tore my gown. The army wanted to burn our store. A lieutenant stopped the soldier before he could... finish with me."

  "Your mother?" Raveneau asked softly.

  "They never came out. The shop was burned."

  "I’m sorry...for your loss, mademoiselle. And it was after that that Jackson found you?"

  "I got away from the redcoat and then hid in a tree for hours. The British had gone when I encountered Caleb." She looked up angrily. "Do you know who I saw when I was in the tree? The mastermind of the entire plot! Benedict Arnold! If I could, I would kill that man!"

  Raveneau seemed unsurprised by this information. He dropped lightly to the floor and walked over to sit near Devon on the bed. "Don't brood about Arnold now; you've got to think of yourself. Haven't you anyone to whom you might go?"

  "I... I had a friend who was like a father to me, but he was killed in the battle." Bitter tears came to Devon's eyes for all the death and destruction of that day. She sobbed and shook, unaware of Andre Raveneau's strong arms enfolding her, pulling her onto his lap, cradling her head against the gray velvet robe and his warm, tanned chest. At last, when her tears were spent, she felt a numbness spread where the agony had been.