Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1)

by Cynthia Wright

  During the week that had elapsed between his arrival on the island and their departure together, it had become increasingly evident that Morgan did not need her love. His eyes had glowed at the revenge he thought he was taking against Raveneau, which he seemed to believe would restore his own self-respect and wipe out past humiliations. He had urged Devon to make haste for their departure, but Devon, suspecting that Eugenie was coaching him, had refused to be pushed out of the house until she was certain that Mouette was strong enough.

  It had taken nearly the full week for Devon to compose a letter to Raveneau. In simple terms, she had admitted the baby's birth but left him a suspicion by not declaring him the father. She explained her feelings about the futility of their relationship and the importance of a secure home for her baby. The written words had sounded cold, but certainly there was no other way. The break had to be unquestioned.

  Devon had also written what she had learned about Souchet and Veronique, telling Andre that his father had not killed her after all. An entire page had been devoted to Louisa, who needed her papa so much, begging Raveneau to give her a chance, knowing that once he saw her smile and held her in his arms, he would be as captivated as Devon had been.

  She had rewritten the letter over and over, striving for an impersonal tone. When she had finally signed her name at the bottom and sealed the sheets of parchment, bitter tears burned her cheeks.

  Saying goodbye had been wrenching. Elsa and Cook had wept openly, but worst of all had been little Louisa. Devon had held her on her lap, embracing her for several minutes as they both wept. "Your papa will be here very soon, sweetheart," she had said, "and I have a feeling that you and he will be great friends."

  In the kitchen, all the servants had clustered around to say farewell and wish Devon and Mouette happiness. Then Elsa had carried Mouette, Louisa clinging to Devon's hand, as they went upstairs. On the landing where she had given birth, Devon paused to take something out of her reticule. She pressed the folded letter into Elsa's free hand.

  "Please, promise me that you will deliver this to Andre when he arrives. Guard it carefully and put it into his hand when you find him alone."

  Morgan had been conversing with Eugenie in the entryway, their heads close together. The woman wore a beautiful gown of pink velvet over an ivory satin petticoat trimmed with layers of ruching. More ivory satin fashioned a sash around Eugenie's wasp waist and was fluted on the neckline to accentuate her bosom. When she looked up at Devon, her eyes were fiery with triumph.

  "Goodbye," had been all Devon could manage.

  "Goodbye."

  After one last hug for Louisa, Devon had taken Mouette from Elsa, and Morgan had gone forward to open the door.

  Morgan had insisted that Devon have a servant who could see to clothes and baths and other services for her and Mouette. Quiet little Jeanette had been eager to fill this position, and now, as mother and daughter lay together on the narrow bunk, the young maid was preparing a tray for Devon's noon meal.

  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 sh
ould 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 re
ally remember..." Devon murmured.

  "That again!" he laughed.

  "Andre—about my leaving the island—" Devon shifted upward, resting her cheek against the hard muscles of his arm to meet his gaze. "I went with Morgan because I felt that Louisa needed you more than we did. I love that child, and it hurts me that you've turned away from her. Please—"

  "Devon, Louisa is fine. The matter is settled."

  "The 'matter'! You call the heart of a little girl a 'matter'?"

  "Do you want to fight again, or will you trust me as I trust you?"

  She swallowed a painful sigh. "All right. I will trust you."

  "You say those words as if I forced them out with torture." Raveneau's face grew harsh again as he slid his arm free and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Neither spoke while he buttoned his shirt and reached for his boots.

  There was a knock at the door. Raveneau got up to open it, leaving her to grapple with her twisted, unfastened gown.

  "Bonjour, ma citrouille!" he exclaimed.

  Devon looked up in curious surprise, just in time to hear a well-loved giggle.

  "I told you a hundred times—don't call me a pumpkin!" Little arms reached out and Raveneau hoisted the little girl into his arms.

  "You just couldn't wait, could you?" he teased, turning toward the bed. "Didn't I tell you that I would come and get you later?"

  "Devon!" squealed Louisa. She threw herself out of Andre's arms and dove into Devon's embrace. Over the child's shoulder Devon could see Raveneau, one black brow arched grimly.

  "Louisa, what a surprise!" she said. "You are a lucky girl, getting to sail on the Black Eagle with your papa!"

  "I know! It's really fun! And you were right about my papa. He's wonderful!"

  "Of course he is."

  "Would you like to meet him? Wait—" She scrambled off the bed. "I'll be right back."

  Devon was still staring in shock, afraid to look at Raveneau's face, when Louisa reappeared in the doorway, clutching the hand of a flustered Halsey Minter.