Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1)

by Cynthia Wright

  He caught her arms roughly and pulled her to him. "Don't you ever shrink from me again! Dry your eyes and get dressed, Devon. You only hurt yourself with this self-pity, and I will not have it. You have suffered much, but you have also survived much and your blessings are many. You are not alone, as you were a year ago, before all this madness began. You have a husband and a daughter who love and need you, and you owe it to all three of us to face the past and put it to rest. All the tears in the world can't bring back the dead or wash away your fears and grief. I want you to put up your chin and tell yourself you are strong. And if you begin to weaken, hold on to me. That's what I am here for."

  One arm encircled her slim back, while his other hand caught her chin, holding it as he covered her wet, trembling lips with his hard mouth. It was a potent kiss that burned a path to her heart and fired her with his strength. "You can lean on me, Devon, but I'll be damned if I'll carry you and do your walking. Do you understand?”

  Her cheeks were flushed. In spite of Raveneau's stern manner, she felt the ridge of desire concealed by his towel—a reminder of his celibate frustration. No words would come, so she nodded, again and again.

  * * *

  They stood together on the deck as the Black Eagle docked. "Let's go ashore," Raveneau said gently, after all was made secure. He carried Mouette as they descended the gangplank.

  The Beach, once Devon’s playground, was nearly destroyed. Most of the storehouses were burned to the ground, the Customs House was a charred shell, and the courthouse and other buildings which had comprised the Parade were gone. The once-crowded waterfront looked forlorn; there were huge gaps between the ships.

  Raveneau's arm hugged her waist. "At least the war is as good as over, and the triumph of freedom is certain. All of this can be restored."

  Devon looked around the Bank as she walked. Andre had already told her that this was the most damaged area, and there was nothing else to say now. She looked beautiful; her head was erect, her back straight. She wore an elegant gown of cream-colored muslin striped in soft peach, its long-waisted boned bodice and square neckline flattering the high curve of her breasts. A wide-brimmed straw hat was tied around her throat with silk ribbons, a few bright curls falling loose down her back, and she carried a sunshade of striped peach silk.

  "There it is." Devon stopped and whispered the words.

  Raveneau rearranged a squirming Mouette and looked at the charred building where Devon and her mother had lived and worked. The top story was entirely destroyed, but part of the ground floor survived, and enough of the hanging sign remained for him to make out the words: "Linen and Pewter Shop."

  "Devon, I think we should go to Nicholson's house. You may find that he survived the battle, and his wife's company should be reassuring for you. No doubt she can answer most of your questions."

  They set out then, retracing in reverse the route they had followed in the carnage so long ago. Devon pointed out every home or shop that held meaning for her. They passed Gadwin's Drug Shop, but she had no wish to see Morgan's parents yet.

  There was the gambrel-roofed schoolhouse where Nathan Hale had awakened her mind long years ago. It sat away from the footpath, surrounded by a stone wall, and Devon touched the stones musingly.

  "Do you know I turned twenty last month?" she asked. "I'd forgotten... it was two weeks before Mouette was born."

  "What made you think of it now?"

  "Because I had had my thirteenth birthday shortly before Master Hale went to war. He gave me Common Sense as a gift, and I was absolutely thrilled by the gesture. He always encouraged me to study, but after he left, there was never a schoolmaster who had a moment to spare for a female."

  "I cannot believe you let that stop you!"

  Seeing the gleam in his eye, Devon smiled. "Master Hale laid a good foundation. The rest I could do on my own, with the help of Nick's library."

  They were approaching the handsome dark blue Nicholson home. It had survived the fire perfectly, looking exactly the same as when Devon was growing up.

  "Don't panic," Raveneau said. "There is bound to be at least one familiar face here, yes? Look, Mouette is scowling, too!"

  Raveneau went forward to lift the familiar brass knocker. Just the sight of him warmed Devon's blood and made her feel more secure. He had never looked more irresistibly disreputable, clad in a frock coat of soft dove-gray velvet that only served to emphasize the steel-flint of his eyes and jet-black sweep of hair queued at his neck. The lean brown line of his jaw showed above a white shirt and cravat, while a waistcoat of slate silk fitted neatly against his tapering chest and narrow waist. Finally, biscuit breeches and gleaming black knee boots completed the picture of dangerous, masculine elegance.

  Devon allowed herself a sigh. She had waited these past days for him to ask eagerly if she was able to make love yet, but after the first day he hadn't said a word. His eyes had let her know what he wanted, but it was obvious now that he expected her to come to him.

  Dreamily, she shivered.

  "You certainly look pleased for someone who is suffering," he murmured sarcastically, and Devon met his knowing eyes with a guilty blush.

  "I—I—"

  "I am glad to hear it." White teeth flashed in a wicked grin.

  The door swung open then, revealing a tall Negro butler Devon had never seen before.

  "Is your mistress at home?" Raveneau inquired.

  "Yes, sir," the butler replied in melodious tones. "Who is calling?"

  "Andre Raveneau—and family."

  The butler turned to hurry up to the second floor.

  Devon's heart was beating like a wild drum when Raveneau took her arm and drew her into the stairhall. She gazed around, curiously dazed. The cream walls had been repainted pale green, and there was a new tall-case clock beside the parlor door. Uneasily, Devon peeked around the corner. Most of the furniture was different, one entire wall was papered in a pastel French pattern, and a huge painting hung over the mantel that she had never—

  "Oh, God! Oh, my God!"

  Instinctively, Raveneau reached for Mouette before Devon went completely mad and dropped her. "Mon Dieu! What is the matter with you?"

  She was pointing at something in the next room, so he stepped forward to look. On the far wall there was a giant portrait of a fair, delicate, pretty woman.

  "That is my mother!" Devon gasped.

  Raveneau blinked at the painting. "Perhaps it was done as a memorial."

  Devon made a face. "That sounds insane. A portrait that size of my mother—in Temperance's parlor? I might believe it were it anyone but my mother, but—"

  "But you see, Devon, it is my parlor now!" a voice interrupted from the top of the stairs. Two startled faces looked up, and Raveneau braced Devon with his free arm when her knees started to buckle.

  "M—Mama?" she choked.

  "Dear, didn't Morgan tell you? He said he was going to fetch you."

  Deborah came down the steps like a queen, nearly unrecognizable as the drab, pinched woman who had worked night and day in the Linen and Pewter Shop. Devon gaped. Her mother wore a gown of deep rose moire over a pale green petticoat. Emeralds glittered against her white throat; her blond hair was powdered and dressed into an elaborate coiffure. Smiling, she embraced her daughter.

  "Come into the parlor, dear, and sit down. You've had a shock." As she led her in, Deborah glanced back quizzically at Raveneau and Mouette. "I don't believe we have met...?"

  He grinned raffishly and took a brocade wing chair across from the sofa where they seated themselves. "Andre Raveneau, madame. This is my daughter, Mouette."

  "Oh...?"

  Devon managed a crooked smile. "Andre is my husband, Mama, and Mouette is our daughter."

  "Oh?" A pale brow arched as she counted the months perplexedly.

  "Mouette was quite premature."

  "I see." She didn't, obviously, but managed a smile all the same. "It would seem that we have both done surprising things these past months!"
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  "I'm very happy, Mama."

  "Good. I am also. I have some other news that I have been anxious to share. This may be hard for you to comprehend, but I am going to become a mother again in October!"

  It took nearly an hour of conversation to unravel their separate stories and put mother and daughter at ease. Deborah relaxed enough to hold her granddaughter and gaze into her beguiling little face; then she explained to Devon what had brought her to this house and her position as Nick's wife.

  "You shouldn't have worried so about me. I have always been a survivor, even at my most miserable moments. When that redcoat shouted from downstairs and the one who held me looked up, I reached for the candlestick and hit the beast over the head. Since the front of the shop was already in flames, I climbed out the back window, onto a tree, and escaped that way. After it was all over and I hadn't seen you at all, I came here and found that Nick had been in the battle at Fort Griswold. Temperance..." Brow furrowed, Deborah stared at her fingers, which worked nervously at Mouette's lace gown. "Temperance apparently feared the worst and panicked. Rebecca found her in her bed... she had taken poison. And, of course, we all shared her belief that Nick was dead. I stayed here, in one of the other bedchambers, and it was midnight before the message came from Groton Bank. He had been wounded and was unconscious for hours—they had taken him for dead. But, thank God, he recovered."

  The rest of the story was obvious. Devon looked at her mother, so radiantly different from the woman she had known, and wondered if she had loved Nick before the battle. Had unrequited love contributed to her bitterness?

  "Tell me," Deborah was saying, "what do you do, M'sieur Raveneau? How did you and Devon meet and fall in love so suddenly? When Morgan came home after Yorktown, he said he had seen Devon and that she was provided for, but that was all he would reveal."

  "Madame, I am the captain of a privateer, the Black Eagle. After the battle here, Devon was quite distraught, and I agreed to take her in search of M'sieur Gadwin. In the meantime..." His voice trailed off suggestively.

  Deborah's face tightened. "A sea captain. The Black Eagle—of course. Oh, Devon."

  "Mama! Don't look that way. I am not like you. I love the sea, and I love the Black Eagle! I am happy!"

  "For now, perhaps."

  "Madame, if it will reassure you at all, let me say that my first allegiance is to my wife and my child."

  "The sea makes a bewitching mistress, Captain."

  Raveneau's eyes sharpened, but before he could respond, Zedidiah Nicholson appeared in the doorway. He was as dynamic and wonderful as Devon remembered him, only now his smile seemed wider and more complete. She threw herself into the arms of her old friend, chattering excitedly as she told him the news of her marriage and child. Nick beamed. He wrapped Devon in a bear hug, embraced Raveneau, and insisted on holding Mouette. They all sat down again, coupled on facing sofas, and stories were repeated for Nick's benefit. This time Devon was more candid, admitting that all had not been perfect between her and Raveneau, that Mouette had been born on the island out of wedlock. Raveneau hastened to explain that he had not known of his daughter's existence, but admitted that love and commitment had not come easily to him.

  Nick laughed and called for wine. He was remembering the only other time he had seen these two together, on the day of their first meeting. The sparks had flown even then. Was love simply a matter of destiny? Grinning, he slipped an arm around Deborah and chuckled when she blushed. Toasts were proposed—to the new marriages, to Mouette, and to the Nicholson baby, who would be born in the fall.

  Finally, the conversation turned from personal topics. Devon quizzed her mother and stepfather about the battle and its aftermath. Nick reported that 85 men had been killed and 35 wounded at Fort Griswold. The 30 prisoners had been returned in less than two months, thanks to Nathaniel Shaw's negotiations, but 4 of them died in the meantime. He told bitterly of the death of Colonel Ledyard, commanding officer of the fort, who had been run through with his own sword after he presented it in surrender. Devon chimed in with her heated account of the hours she had spent in the tree over the Burial Ground, watching the traitor who had led the redcoats. Nick informed her that Benedict Arnold had left for England the previous December, though rumor had it that the British thought him less than a hero and society ostracized him and his wife.

  Nearly 150 buildings had been burned in New London alone. Nathaniel Shaw's wife, Lucretia, had contracted a fever while nursing sick prisoners and died five months ago. The most shocking piece of news was that Shaw himself had been killed in a hunting accident only a few weeks before, leaving the war-ravaged New London without the leader who had helped the town through its most perilous years.

  After two hours of animated conversation, the group quieted. Devon took Mouette and opened her bodice so that the baby could nurse. Nick and Raveneau smoked cigars and talked of General Washington, now at his headquarters at Newburgh, New York, wondering if any more fighting would precede the peace treaty.

  As Mouette dozed off, Devon refastened her gown and became conscious of a certain electricity traveling from Raveneau's body to hers. When she looked over at him, his scarred jaw tightened and silver eyes slanted briefly in her direction, sending a delicious fiery thrill down her spine.

  "Nick, Mama... might we impose and ask you to watch Mouette for a while? I am so anxious to explore New London. I was so overwrought when we came here, and now I feel that I can enjoy seeing familiar places."

  "Certainly!" Nick boomed. "We'll be happy to have the little babe all to ourselves, won't we, Debby?"

  "Of course. I know you must be wanting to visit the Gadwins and your other friends. Your old friend Rebecca still works for us, and she should be back for supper. She'll be beside herself with excitement to find you home. And when she sees Mouette!" Deborah smiled at the thought.

  Raveneau let Devon lead him out of the house without a question. Her hand was warm and tense in his, her cheeks flushed. The wide-brimmed hat and sunshade were left behind and her hair slipped free of the pins, abundant curls gleaming in the late afternoon sun.

  Devon felt as nervous as a virgin, blushing more hotly each time she met his knowing eyes. His very nearness undid her, pulling her like a tantalizing magnet, scattering reason.

  They walked quickly away from the heart of New London. Devon led the way, tugging at Raveneau's hand, urging him to meet the frantic pace she set. He did not make it easy for her, though at least he spared her the torturous ordeal of mock conversation. Later they would talk. Still, his eyes were on her, aware of the effect he had on her, his chiseled mouth softened slightly with ironic amusement.

  His hand was tightening around hers, strong fingers sending fresh currents of passion over her. She lifted her gown with her free hand as they crossed the Post Hill Road and set out over Little Owl Meadow, past the sawmill. Deep green grass rose up like a river and Devon waded onward, along the edge of Perry's Pond. Finally they reached a thick, sprawling orchard and Raveneau stopped. He pulled Devon around to face him, piercing her with his eyes.

  "No one ever comes here," she whispered brazenly.

  "Madame, what are you saying?"

  When his hands touched her sides, they seemed to burn away her gown, scorching the soft flesh where her breasts blossomed. Devon's knees gave way and she swayed against his hard-muscled body. "Please..."

  He lifted her up and kissed her with a savage tenderness that betrayed his own need. Devon was swallowing hot, aching tears, trembling in his arms. Now it was Andre who led, half carrying her deep into the orchard where apple blossoms still clung to the trees and the grass was as thick as a feather bed.

  Pure love and fiery passion met and blended like snow and sunlight. This was a perfect union, for Devon was free to give herself without shame or anxiety, and Andre at last expressed his love for her with an eloquence that words could never match. For once, nothing tainted their moments of wild fury, and Andre was able to reveal the depth of his tenderness.
>
  When at last they were spent, the sun was beginning to set above the trees. Devon turned on her side and pressed her face into his broad chest. He caressed her tangled curls and the softness of her back, kissing an ear, shoulder, bruised mouth.

  Slowly, leisurely, their hands and lips explored until Raveneau hooked her leg over his waist, joining their bodies once more. They moved almost lazily, hips grazing and sliding apart, teasing, savoring each wondrous sensation. They smiled and kissed as they climbed the peak together, then fell in an excruciating blaze of slow motion. Devon put a hand on his buttocks, keeping him joined to her, and closed her eyes as he laughed and kissed her at the same time.

  "Are you cold, sweet?"

  "I've never been warmer, but I don't think I will be able to walk," she groaned.

  "How sad." Raveneau made a face of mock sympathy.

  "Mouette will be hungry..."

  "Mmm... not half as hungry as I have been."

  Desire kindled anew as he slipped a hand into her hair and pulled her against his mouth. It was a long, deep kiss, but Devon started in surprise as she felt him stiffen inside her.

  "Andre! I don't believe it! Impossible!"

  "My appetite and capacity are both legendary," he murmured, flashing a devilish grin. "Ah, Devon, it has been so long! You'll never know how I have craved this. My restraint has truly been proof of my love for you."

  "I still cannot believe it when I hear you say that word. You love me!" She laughed with delight.

  "I do. Yes. Today, when you were dragging me off to ravish me, I knew it more certainly than ever before. There isn't a woman alive who could compare with you." He chuckled as she nibbled hard on his ear. "You are guileless down to your bones, and it's not just youth. I know you will never change."

  "Ravish you!" she giggled. "Honestly!"

  He arched a black brow. "I would say that the word is entirely appropriate!" His hands moved to hold her still. "This is a beautiful place. Would you like to live in this area? Mystic, or Stonington, or perhaps Newport?"