Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1)

by Cynthia Wright

  * * *

  "I cannot believe it," Devon breathed. "Why didn't I see it before?" She was alone in the cabin; Raveneau had accompanied Minter to discuss "a few minor matters."

  When Halsey Minter had come in, taken a chair at Raveneau's invitation, and scooped Louisa into his lap, the sight of their two faces side by side had been incredible. Louisa's ginger hair was a shade less fiery than her father's, but her eyes, face shape, and expressions were identical.

  Minter was a smitten man. He and Louisa had seemed to be off in a private world of their own, whispering jokes, hugging, even tickling each other from time to time. When he met Devon's eyes he’d given her a boyish smile that lit up the cabin.

  Raveneau returned now, lingering in the doorway to observe Devon's pensive profile. It was an amazing day; all the emotions that he had buried for years had come to the surface... and Raveneau's relief was immeasurable. Crossing the cabin, he sat down beside Devon and she nestled against him. A slim arm attempted to reach around his back as she smiled up, touching his sleek hair with her other hand.

  One side of Raveneau's mouth twitched. "Are you glad to see me, perhaps?"

  "Ecstatic. Am I too forward? Overpowering?"

  He grinned lazily. "Overpowering... yes, that's the word. I surrender."

  He bent to kiss her, but Devon put her hand over his lips. "Wait. I wonder how Mouette is."

  "Sleeping. Treasel has promised to bring her in as soon as she awakens."

  "She'll be hungry soon."

  "Hungry? What do you suppose we can feed her?"

  Devon giggled. "I carry her meals wherever I go! Oh, my, are you blushing? It's hard to tell under that swarthy complexion, but I actually do believe—"

  Slate-gray eyes narrowed. "You try my patience, petite chatte."

  "I know." She beamed. "And see how you have distracted me! I have been consumed with curiosity about Minter and Louisa! Please, tell me how—when—everything."

  Raveneau smiled as she snuggled her head against his shoulder, and idly caressed her curls as he spoke.

  "When we arrived at the island two nights ago, Eugenie was in prime form. I was surprised and annoyed to see her, but after I found you gone and read your letter, I became quite disagreeable. Ah, 'savage' was the word Eugenie used, as I recall..." He smothered a grin. "When she produced Louisa and rattled off her story, I was certain, in my gut, that she was lying, but no matter what I said or did, she wouldn't admit it. Minter won the day. He came down after unpacking my things and saw and heard enough to know what the situation was. Louisa had fallen asleep in the salon, but as soon as he got a look at her, he came to me and exposed Eugenie."

  "Hurry up!"

  "Well, between Minter and Eugenie, I pieced the story together. It seems that six years ago, on the island, Eugenie was certain she had me snagged, but when I suddenly escaped her trap, she and Souchet—her dear father, as now I know—

  concocted this scheme. They rushed out to find someone to make her pregnant. To avoid her, I had moved onto the privateer the last few nights before we sailed, and Minter was left to collect my clothing from the house. He was only sixteen then, and easily seduced by a viper like Eugenie. I assume that she recruited more volunteers during the next weeks until she was positive of the child, but it would seem that Minter had beginner's luck!"

  "But why would she do such a thing?"

  "For me!" Raveneau's exclamation was heavy with sarcasm. "She returned to France, then England, gave birth, and bided her time until the opportunity presented itself to introduce me to my 'child.' She tried to tell me the other night that she had been pregnant when I left, but didn't know it herself until she was back in Europe. Ironically, that is true, barely, but of course, I was not the father."

  "And now that her plan has failed?"

  "Minter and I convinced her to give him a turn as a parent. As much as I hated to, I gave her funds to tide her over, and will arrange for a Europe-bound ship to stop for her. Of course, she made a great show of maternal tragedy, but she agreed to see how things work out these next months. I would wager this privateer that Eugenie finds a wealthy husband and we never hear from her again—and that Minter and Louisa live happily ever after!"

  "What will Minter do? He can't stay here!"

  "He isn't certain. After we are in port, he plans to take Louisa to Virginia for a visit with her grandparents, and I suppose that he'll reach a decision about the future then."

  "Oh, Andre, won't Azalea be thrilled when she returns! She'll adore Louisa!"

  "Everyone does." His mouth drifted along Devon's chin, then over her throat until she shuddered in reaction.

  "Excuse me—Captain?" Treasel stood in the doorway with a tiny bundle in his arms. “I changed her nappie; she’s clean and dry.”

  "Mouette!" Devon cried. Raveneau stood up and accepted the tiny infant almost warily. Devon suppressed a grin at the sight of his bemused face. "She's not going to break! Come over here. She must be famished."

  Mouette looked smaller than ever in Raveneau's arms, and she wriggled about, uneasy with the way he held her so stiffly. When they reached the bed, Devon prompted, "Andre, cuddle her a little! Hold her against your chest and smile at her!"

  He sat down and regarded the baby with more than a trace of suspicion. "When I think about it, Devon, your story is remarkably similar to Eugenie's. Why have I swallowed it so agreeably?"

  "Because you trust me."

  "Oh, yes. Of course."

  The baby was clad in a long gown of layered ivory batiste embroidered with petite green. A soft, knitted bonnet, tied coquettishly under the chin, covered most of her feathery black hair.

  "Well? Isn't she beautiful?"

  Mouette opened her eyes wide at the sound of her mother's voice, but focused them on Raveneau. They were a clear shade of blue-gray, as though the parents' eyes had been mixed to an exact blend. Slowly, he extended a long, tanned finger and touched a lock of black hair, then the curve of Mouette's cheek and nose. When it brushed her mouth, she seized it and began to suck.

  "What the devil is she doing?"

  Devon laughed. "She's hungry. Perhaps you'd better hand her over."

  "Look! She raised her eyebrow at me! How can she do that?"

  "Her father's daughter," Devon explained sagely.

  He stared as she unfastened her bodice and fit Mouette into the curve of her arm. The baby began to nurse. The swell of emotion in his chest was alarming, totally unlike anything he had ever felt before. On top of his declaration of love and trust for Devon, this helpless, entrancing infant was nearly more than he could cope with in one day.

  The tiny hand was curved in a fist of pleasure, fluttering on the side of Devon's breast. To his horror, Raveneau felt a tear sting his eyes. "It is difficult to comprehend—my daughter," he whispered.

  Devon glanced up at the husky note in his voice. Her heart thudded wildly when she saw the telltale glint in his silver eyes, but she only smiled. "Mouette is a miracle of love. She was born so early... but I was certain that she would be charmed—like you."

  Standing up abruptly, Raveneau announced, "I think I need a drink. Will you join me?"

  "Only a drop."

  He splashed cognac into two snifters and returned to the bed. Handing one to Devon, he then pulled up the wing chair and sat down. "To us, petite chatte." He lifted his glass a fraction and cast an eye at Mouette. "I know she would join us were she not so greedy."

  Devon smiled and took a tiny sip of cognac, closing her eyes briefly against the almost unbearable surge of joy that flushed her cheeks.

  While her eyes were closed, Louisa appeared in the doorway and waved to Raveneau, then vanished. "Ah... when Mouette is finished," he said, "I thought we might take her for a stroll on deck—show her around a bit."

  "She would love it!" Devon approved, switching the baby to the other side. "Just a few more minutes."

  While they waited, Raveneau made idle conversation about the British merchant ship they had t
aken the day before, after leaving the island. Most of the crew had gone with it back to New London, which accounted for the small show of force when they had boarded Morgan's ketch.

  Then he rose and retucked his shirt more neatly into the buff breeches, then found a cravat and tied it with expert speed. "You might like to rearrange your hair."

  Slightly surprised, Devon gave Mouette to her father and fastened her bodice again, then went to the shaving stand. She did look rather disheveled, but certainly happy! Her eyes had never sparkled so, nor had her cheeks looked so lovely while flushed. She quickly pulled the remaining pins from her strawberry-blond curls and let them tumble down her back. A few smoothing flicks with the comb and she turned to smile at Raveneau, who was shrugging into an amber coat, switching Mouette from arm to arm.

  "I'm ready!"

  His eyes were soft. "You look exactly like the girl I met in Nicholson's library." Arching an eyebrow at her bosom, he added, "With a few minor improvements."

  "Minor!" Devon laughed. Raveneau caught her hand, held it tightly, and together the trio went into the gangway. As they reached the open hatch, Devon could hear the rumble of voices from the brig below. "How many prisoners are there?"

  "A dozen, perhaps. Actually, I think they're rather enjoying this. Our food is much better than what they have been eating the last few months."

  He took Mouette up first, then leaned down to help Devon, causing her to think of all the times she had climbed through the hatch without so much as a glance from him.

  "I cannot believe this is the same devil who once threatened to toss me overboard!" she whispered, amused.

  Raveneau smiled ironically. "Neither can I."

  She looked around then and found the remaining two dozen crewmen assembled on deck. Each man had combed his hair and slipped a new eelskin over his queue. Their faces were clean; flat-brimmed hats were clutched nervously over their bellies, and several sported bright, freshly washed neckerchiefs.

  "What are all of you doing?" Devon asked, unused to seeing them so sober-looking. None answered, though Wheaton's faded blue eyes twinkled in a broad wink.

  Minter came up through the hatch. Someone handed up a beautifully gowned Louisa, and then another man appeared. He was tall, with a nose like a rudder, but his smile was infectious.

  "Devon Lindsay," Minter said, smiling, "may I present Captain Silas Longheart."

  "How do you do, Captain?" Her eyes rested curiously on his gold-trimmed blue uniform and the red sash that crossed his chest.

  "The pleasure is mine, I assure you, Miss Lindsay!"

  "Captain Longheart joined us yesterday," Raveneau said casually, studying Mouette's tiny head on his shoulder.

  "I don't understand!" Devon said.

  Some of the men had begun to grin. She was a fetching little chit after all! Just the one for their captain.

  "Devon," cautioned Raveneau, struggling to repress laughter, "please do not make a scene—especially on the occasion of our wedding."

  She caught his sleeve for balance, choking audibly. "Oh... oh... cruel! You couldn't warn me? I—"

  "You are not pleased by my surprise? You wish me to send Captain Longheart back to the brig?"

  "Andre! No! Oh, you have me in such a state. I don't know what I'm saying!"

  "Petite chatte, as long as you can say 'I do,' I will be satisfied."

  Captain Longheart was grinning toothily. "I say!" he hooted. "Let's get on with it, then!"

  The sun was just beginning to slide downward, streaking the sky and ocean with a soft apricot glow. A gentle, warm breeze caressed the Black Eagle and wrapped itself around Andre, Devon, and Mouette as they became a family in name as well as in spirit.

  When the ceremony was over, Wheaton and Treasel volunteered to watch the napping Mouette for a little while, promising to keep her safe. Raveneau wrapped an arm around his bride, marveling, "I never would have believed I could feel so incredibly pleased about being someone's husband! Never!"

  Minter, Louisa, and Captain Longheart were persuaded to join the Raveneaus in the cabin to share a glass of champagne and sign the ship's log.

  Inside the cozy, lantern-lit cabin, the cook brought champagne, and after the first toast and a sizzling round of kisses for the bride, the log book was produced. There were few entries in it; it would seem that the captain was not a man much concerned with records. Devon signed with a flourish, followed by Raveneau and the English captain.

  She gazed at the inscriptions dreamily. There it was, in black ink... "Wedded this sixteenth day of May, 1782." Raveneau's hand was confident, the unembellished signature of a man who didn't need to impress others. Andri Geai Raveneau.

  Devon looked up. "I never knew your second name! What does Geai mean?"

  Minter flinched, but Raveneau flashed a casual smile. "Who knows? What does Andre mean?"

  "But I never heard this name before." She glanced at Minter, who threw up his hands and shrugged excessively.

  Captain Longheart laughed. "I don't know a bloody word of French, madam!"

  Louisa had been staring at the bubbles in her tiny portion of champagne, but now she looked up. "Uncle Andre, if you are from France, why don't you know that geai means jay?"

  Devon whirled on Raveneau, murder in her eyes. "You! You! How could you? You made a fool of me! Azalea, Minter"—she spared a fiery glare for Halsey—"all of you must have been laughing up your sleeves while I mooned over the Blue Jay!"

  "Mooned?" Raveneau echoed. "Really?"

  "Don't tease me! I could kill you right now!" Her nostrils flared; bright spots of color showed on her cheeks.

  "I say!" ejaculated Captain Longheart. "I'm not anxious to return to that brig, but I do suddenly feel in the way!"

  Raveneau caught Devon's arm and pulled her against the length of his body. "My wife is fine now, Captain. She apologizes for creating a scene, don't you, Devon? I know that you will hold the rest of your threats and insults and physical violence for when we are alone. Yes?"

  Conversation resumed, more champagne was opened, and Louisa eventually drifted off to sleep in her father's lap. Devon pouted, sitting next to Halsey on the bed, avoiding Raveneau's flinty gaze. When goodnights were exchanged at last and the newlyweds were alone, Raveneau returned to his wing chair and stared at his wife.

  Silence was thick in the air before Devon finally burst out, "You deceived me! You have been laughing at my foolish infatuation with the Blue Jay—all of you! How can you look at me like that, as if I am in the wrong?"

  "You are, my dear," he said evenly. "This is our wedding night. I thought we had agreed to put past understandings in their proper place."

  Suddenly, seeing her childish behavior in this new light, she felt wretched. Chin trembling, she went to Raveneau, waiting until his arms opened to her, then wrapped her in comforting strength.

  "Devon, I love you."

  "I love you!" Turning her face into his hard, warm chest, she let the tears come. "I should have known. The Blue Jay had to be you. I've never wanted anyone else in my entire life... and I never will."

  Chapter 26

  ***~~~***

  May 23, 1782

  Shortly before noon on Mouette Raveneau's one-month birthday, the Black Eagle sailed into the harbor of New London. The weather was dazzling; cool and crisp. The sun was a ball of gold fire against a brilliant blue sky, transforming the water into a wide ribbon of glittering sapphires.

  They had dropped a very happy Halsey and Louisa Minter at their Virginia farm, but Devon missed Minter now. He had always known just what to say to her, his manner a perfect blend of compassion and common sense.

  Devon had passed the morning on deck, pacing in agitation as the privateer skimmed along Fisher's Island Sound in sight of the Connecticut coastline. The view was wrenchingly familiar: the village of Stonington, Mason's Island, and the smaller islands below it, Noank, Groton Long Point, and Mumford's Cove. Beyond Pine Island, Devon could see the Thames, and she recognized White Beach and the li
ghthouse on the far side. Benedict Arnold's British fleet had landed there... could it have been less than nine months ago? Her stomach was in knots, her palms were icy. She hadn't slept at all the night before, plagued by nerves and a fear that the nightmare would return. Raveneau had held her in the moonlight, listening for hours as she relived her childhood and adolescence, and finally the last day she had spent in New London. Coming back to face the consequences of that day took all the courage she had, and still it was not enough. If not for Raveneau...

  Devon had turned away from her first view of the Thames and had run for the cabin, nearly falling through the hatch in her desperation.

  Raveneau was shaving, a wide towel wrapped and knotted around his waist. He had propped two plump pillows on his desk so that Mouette lay at a slant, gurgling and smiling at her father's performance.

  “Don’t you think that our daughter is very advanced for her age?” he asked.

  Devon flung herself on the bed. "I want to stay right here. I'm very tired. Let me just sleep today."

  Raveneau put down his razor, sighing as he flexed his shoulders. "Devon. Are you going to make me suffer through an entire day of this? I understand how you feel, but I don't have the patience to cajole you until you finally give up and do what you know damn well you must. Why not spare us both these exhausting dramatics and show me your mettle instead?" His dark, chiseled face betrayed no hint of sympathy, but this was the result of a lifetime of hiding his feelings. "I am certain you can manage, petite, and you must believe, this time, that I know you best."

  She was shaken by the cool sharpness of his voice. Tears pooled in her eyes, but Raveneau's expression did not soften. He gave her one last rapier-sharp look, lifted a brow almost imperceptibly, then returned to his shaving-stand.

  "You don't understand," she whimpered after a long minute. "I have been through so much..."

  He didn't answer, didn't miss a stroke with his razor. Devon's chin quivered and tears spilled onto her cheeks, while Mouette continued to coo and swing her hand at a sunbeam. Not until he had finished shaving and had rinsed and dried his face and neck did Raveneau turn back to his wife. She saw him through her tears, looming over her, his body taut with anger. She cringed.