Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1)

by Cynthia Wright

  Still, he thought, it isn't guilt that makes me want to touch her now...

  * * *

  Devon could scarcely break away from the mirror, so fascinated was she by her appearance. It was difficult to believe that she was truly the same girl who had run full tilt down the winding streets of New London and had stowed away on a privateer, disguised as a surgeon's mate.

  At Raveneau's request, she had left her hair un-powdered, though she entertained a secret wish to see what the effect would have been. A girl had appeared to help her dress, and she arranged Devon's golden-rose hair with skilled hands. It had been pulled up from her face, but wispy tendrils had been left to curl across her brow and temples. The rest of her gleaming ringlets were pinned in expert disarray atop her head.

  There was no need for cosmetics. Excitement made her beautiful, eyes sparkling and skin glowing. The gown fit as though it had been designed just for her. The bodice hugged her breasts, flattering them, and Devon thought even the lush Azalea might cast an envious eye her way. Her tiny waist was accentuated by the panniers that held her satin and lace skirts out on either side.

  Though she had no jewelry to wear, the gown seemed enough. She stood before the mirror as she waited for Raveneau, fingering the heavy satin and frothy lace and turning her head this way and that, studying the contours of her face and neck. What a night this will be! she thought, and beamed, closing her eyes in an effort to contain her joy.

  "You are a vision, Devon," a voice said from the doorway.

  She opened her eyes and saw his reflection in the mirror. "Oh, my!" she gasped. "You look beautiful!"

  Raveneau's eyes widened, then he burst out laughing. Devon turned around and stared at him. She had never imagined a man could look so magnificent. He wore his raven hair unpowdered. His shirt and cravat were white as snow against his dark jaw. His coat of rich forest-green velvet fit like a glove, outlining broad shoulders and lean hips. Finally, there were white breeches and stockings and buckled shoes. Devon thought illogically that she hadn't seen his calves since the day on the Black Eagle when he had sat on the table in his dressing gown.

  "Beautiful, eh?" Raveneau repeated cynically.

  "I didn't mean it that way!"

  "I know." His harshly cut face softened and he walked over to her and gave her a gentle, grazing kiss. "Every man shall envy me tonight."

  A sweet current of warmth swept over Devon at his words, but she knew that, in truth, she would be the envied one.

  * * *

  The evening passed quickly, but Devon was so happy she wished to stop time.

  The magnificent new home of the Marquis de Benet was huge, built of red brick, and recently furnished with thick imported rugs and Chippendale pieces upholstered in rich brocades. Candles blazed in crystal or silver chandeliers. Punch bowls sat on every table and there was every sort of meat, pastry, and sweetmeat, as well as a variety of shellfish.

  The guests ate and drank and laughed and danced, their jewels and brilliant clothing reflecting the candlelight. Raveneau kept Devon at his side, and she found that she had been right; every female present had her eyes trained on Andre, even the elderly ladies. Raveneau remained slightly amused by the entire affair. His eyes gleamed with cynical mischief as he played the part of heroic privateer captain. It was evident to Devon that no one impressed him in the least, no matter what their title or the size of their fortune. And it seemed to her that he was impressed least of all by his own notoriety.

  In the ballroom, velvet-garbed musicians played harpsichord, violins, and harp as the guests moved through the motions of the minuet. Devon hung back. "I have danced before, but never like this," she confessed.

  Raveneau grinned. "I will teach you."

  Her heart sped with happiness as he led her out the French doors into the moonlit garden, where the music sounded faintly.

  "Don't be nervous," he chided. "It is but a comical dance, petite chatte, and worthy only of your laughter."

  He took her hands in his and she shivered. Slowly, he showed her the steps, letting her practice while watching the couples in the ballroom. When she began to move with more confidence, they danced an entire minuet without stopping. Devon loved the feeling of their bodies moving in harmony, back and forth, touching, releasing, turning, bowing. Raveneau's grace was effortless, though he surely couldn't have had much opportunity to practice.

  After a while the musicians went to have a glass of punch, while the other guests could be seen returning to the tables for more refreshment.

  "Are you cold?" Raveneau asked.

  "No, I'm fine."

  "Good. Let us remain here for now."

  He led her along a brick walkway, into the mazelike garden. The breeze was chilly, but Devon didn't notice. "You don't seem to like those people very well," she remarked.

  "I wouldn't put it quite that mildly. Most of them are totally obscured by artificial layers of social grace and contrived behavior. I have no patience for it or them."

  "Then why did you come tonight?"

  "Because Benet is an old friend who, momentarily mad, seems to aspire to this life." He stopped and looked down at her. "And I came for you. I thought you might enjoy it."

  Their eyes met and Devon was suddenly seized by a chill. Her palms grew moist as Raveneau reached out to trace the line of her throat with a finger. She could feel her breasts trembling and wondered crazily if he noticed.

  "Devon, I—"

  "La! Raveneau!" came a shout from the ballroom. They looked back to see the marquis outlined against the light from the French doors. He hastened down the path.

  "Where have you been? The women are badgering me mercilessly, demanding a dance with you. For my sake, Andre—"

  Raveneau sighed sharply. "I hate this, Jacques, do you know that? These people have the manners of frogs."

  With that, he strode away, leaving Devon with the marquis, who clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Zut! There is not a man alive who would not love to be Andre. It is as though the women are bees and he is the honey, yet he behaves as though that were a curse."

  Devon smiled, happy to think that Raveneau might prefer her company to that of the elegant women inside.

  "I understand that you have come to Virginia to find your fiancé!" Benet remarked as they started back to the ballroom.

  "Well, yes."

  "A fortunate man. Such devotion as yours is rare. And I am pleased to find Andre in the role of cavalier. It is encouraging to discover that he has a—how shall I say it?—a fatherly, protective side to his character."

  Devon froze.

  "Mademoiselle Lindsay, you look positively ill! Are you faint?"

  "No, no, I am fine. Just a bit lightheaded for a moment."

  The music had resumed, and through the French doors Devon spied Raveneau dancing with a tall, stunning young lady who wore a gown of gold cloth encrusted with jewels. He was smiling, his eyes gleaming with silvery lights.

  "Would you care to dance, mademoiselle?" Benet inquired cheerfully.

  "I don't know... I haven't had much practice."

  "Then it is fortunate that I am here to help. I am a veritable master of the minuet."

  Without another word, he led her inside and they took their places. At first Devon was too distraught to concentrate, but after Raveneau glanced in their direction, she determined to enjoy herself. Her body moved of its own volition. Benet smiled and she smiled in return, brilliantly.

  * * *

  By midnight, Devon was confused. She was piercingly jealous of every woman who danced in Andre's arms. Women followed him like puppies, but he appeared to be enjoying himself. After a while Devon's pride came to the fore. She ignored him, flirting with the men who begged a dance and fetched her pastries and punch, and enjoying the flattery they lavished upon her.

  She was standing in the dining room with a pompous college official when Raveneau suddenly materialized. "I trust you are enjoying yourself?" he inquired bitingly.

  Devon li
fted her chin. "Yes, thank you. Captain Raveneau, may I introduce Mr. Peabody? He is a member of the board at William and Mary."

  The two men exchanged curt nods.

  "I think we should be going," Raveneau announced. "I know you will want to be up at first light."

  Devon shrugged a delicate shoulder and averted her eyes.

  "Miss Lindsay, might I presume to inquire if you would receive me tomorrow?" Peabody interjected. "I would be pleased to share tea with you."

  Raveneau's jaw tightened. "Miss Lindsay is unavailable. She is getting married in a few days. Good evening, sir."

  With that, one brown hand gripped Devon's arm, pulling her along before she could say another word to Mr. Peabody. Outrage swelled in her throat, but in this sea of curious, smiling faces all she could do was smile tensely in return. The marquis tried to discover their reason for leaving so early, but after the briefest goodnight, Raveneau propelled Devon outdoors.

  She watched him stalk along in the moonlight, the picture of tremendous power straining to be unleashed. His face looked positively frightening. Although simmering with anger herself, Devon had no wish to provoke him into losing control. They walked the short quarter mile to the Raleigh Tavern, her courage building all the while.

  "Excuse me, Captain Raveneau," Devon said at last, her tone both frosty and quavering. "I think you owe me an explanation!"

  He stopped and turned to glare down at her, his eyes blazing like silver stars. "Sweet Devon, I am confused myself. Just exactly what sort of girl are you?"

  Her mouth dropped. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that over a month ago I met an innocent child who begged me with pathetic sincerity to take her to Yorktown so that she might be reunited with her one true love. I have seen little of that true love since then. It might have been a stranger whom I watched tonight at Benet's. Dieu! If not for your hair, I wouldn't have been able to discern you from every other simpering coquette of marriageable age!"

  "You are the most ill-mannered—"

  "And you are avoiding the issue. I think that I have a right to some answers after wasting so much time on you." Every word he uttered was like a stinging slap to her face.

  "You have not been exactly a model of propriety yourself!" she cried. "If you desired me to remain pure of mind and purpose, you should never have robbed me of my innocence!"

  Passersby slowed to stare at them until Raveneau bent a dangerous look on the eavesdroppers. When he turned back to Devon, there was a glint of amusement in his expression. "Women! You all possess the most amazing facility for reshaping the past. We both know what happened that night. I will not be painted as the villain!"

  Her face flaming, Devon turned and started up the walkway to the Raleigh. "I do not wish to continue this discussion."

  Behind her, Raveneau arched a black eyebrow and smiled slightly. He followed Devon inside and up the stairs.

  "Good night," she murmured tensely.

  "You may not wish to continue this discussion, Devon, dear, but I do."

  She tried to ignore him when he followed her inside and dropped into the rose and cream print chair. Standing before the mirror, she pulled the pins from her hair, one by one, and deposited them in a Staffordshire bowl.

  "Tell me about your Merlin," Raveneau said at length.

  Devon felt as though he had been putting needles in her all day, but this one struck a major nerve. The person who was most confused about her relationship with Morgan was Devon herself. "You are trying to annoy me!" she nearly shouted. "And furthermore, I resent your attitude. That ball was your idea, not mine, and I didn't notice you flying into a rage when I was dancing and laughing with you."

  This came nearer to the truth than Raveneau was willing to admit. "You are skirting the issue once again, mademoiselle," he rejoined coolly. "There is a monumental difference between me and the rest of the men at Benet's. I know your situation; you are safe in my company."

  Devon seized on this with glee. "Oh, please! I wish you might be on hand on my wedding night to explain to Morgan just how safe I have been in your company!"

  He narrowed his eyes. "Are we going to have that discussion again? I would be happy to, at length, if that is your wish."

  Devon began to comb her lavish curls furiously. "No. I am tired. I wish you would leave."

  He propped his legs on the bedframe. "I will do so just as soon as you tell me about Morgan. I am curious, especially since I may meet him at last tomorrow."

  Devon glared at him but sat down on the edge of the bed. "There are times when I wish I had never met you," she hissed.

  "Oh, really? You will be relieved to learn that I harbor that same wish—continually. Now, about Morgan?"

  She wondered if that were true. Did Andre despise her? Inexplicably, tears stung her eyes and a painful lump swelled in her throat. "Fine. If that is what it will take to get you to leave my room, then I shall be happy to oblige."

  Raveneau smiled like a cat, waiting.

  "Morgan and I were inseparable friends almost since the day we were born. He is sweet and idealistic and always loved me better than anything in the world. He would have done whatever I asked—"

  "Sounds like a man after my own heart," Raveneau murmured sardonically.

  "If you are going to take that attitude—"

  "No, please. I apologize. Do go on."

  "Well, there is not much to tell. We led a quiet life, but we made wonderful plans for our future! We are going to sail all over the world someday. I want to see everything—"

  "Ah! Morgan owns a ship, I take it?"

  "Well, no, but—" His mocking expression made her nervous. "We are going to get our own ship after we are married."

  "Really? How?"

  "That is none of your affair!"

  "Ah, je comprends. A secret plan. Hmmm... well, I wish you luck with this swashbuckling husband. Perhaps one day our ships will meet at sea."

  "I hope not! Pirate that you are, you would doubtless attack us."

  Raveneau laughed, but his gray eyes were watchful as he stood up. "I have just one last question. Won't Morgan mind your association with me? And what of tonight? How would he have felt if he had seen you fluttering your lovely lashes at all those men?"

  Devon knew the answer but could never admit to Raveneau that Morgan was far too tractable to become angry over her behavior.

  "Morgan trusts me. He knows that he is the one I love," she declared.

  "An amazing man," Raveneau reflected, "...or a fool."

  Chapter 15

  ***~~~***

  October 21-23, 1781

  Now a hospital, the Governors Palace had been home to seven royal governors between 1710 and 1775, and Devon stared in awe as Raveneau guided her under the brick archway, past neglected, lozenge-shaped flower beds and the brick buildings which flanked the forecourt.

  "This is where Mr. Jefferson lived as well?" Devon asked softly.

  "Yes."

  A soldier appeared at the door, shading his eyes against the morning sun. "Do you need help? There is camp fever inside, so we don't encourage visitors."

  Raveneau and Devon walked up the steps. "We are looking for a young man named Morgan—"

  "Gadwin," Devon supplied, her heart racing with suspense. "He is from New London, Connecticut, and we were told that he could be found here."

  The soldier smiled. "Oh, yes, I know Private Gadwin. You'll be happy to learn that he came through his illness in fine shape. He was discharged from here two days ago, but I have heard since that he is staying at the Market Square Tavern." He grinned at Raveneau. "Recuperating, you know."

  After thanking the soldier for his help, they walked back toward the brick archway.

  "Well!" Devon exclaimed. "The news couldn't have been better. Morgan is healthy and here in Williamsburg."

  Raveneau grunted testily.

  They started across the vast, autumn-tinted Palace Green that would bring them back to Duke of Gloucester Street. Since the tense dis
cussion of the night before, she and Raveneau had remained cool and distant. His gray eyes were flinty when they met hers, and Devon's emotions were in a state of turmoil. It was impossible for her to understand her feelings about anything, Morgan or Raveneau, the present or the future. She wished she could turn back time to September fifth and find herself tucked safely into her bed above the Linen and Pewter Shop.

  I was so confident and outspoken then, she thought. I didn't know when I was well off!

  Duke of Gloucester Street was crowded with soldiers, negro slaves, servants, pigs, dogs, horses, cows and a sprinkling of the well-dressed gentry. Market Square was located at the street's midpoint, between the capital and the College of William and Mary.

  The Market Square Tavern was not as fine a building as the Raleigh, where Devon and Andre had rooms, but inviting all the same. It was surrounded by a stable, a Saddlery and Harness Making Shop, a charming garden, and a large smokehouse. The tavern itself was two rooms deep and one and a half stories tall, like most of its Williamsburg neighbors.

  As they approached the door, Devon's knees weakened, accompanied by an apprehensive tightening in her breast.

  Raveneau intensified his grip on her arm and lifted a dark eyebrow. "Why aren't you charging in like a runaway horse?"

  She gave him a cold, disdainful look and reached out to open the door. The tavernkeeper appeared almost instantly, beaming. "Captain Raveneau! It is a great pleasure to see you! Can I offer you a room?"

  "Bonjour, M'sieur Maupin." Andre reached out to shake his hand. "May I present Mademoiselle Lindsay?" Maupin and Devon exchanged greetings and Raveneau continued, "It is not lodging I seek, but this young lady's fiancé. We have reason to believe he may have taken a room here."

  "Ah! A reunion of young lovers! I hope that I can help. What is this fortunate fellow's name?"

  "Morgan Gadwin," Devon replied, flinching inwardly.

  "Happy news!" Maupin boomed. "He is in the parlor at this very moment. Come along!"