Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1)

by Cynthia Wright

  Sighing, Ryan ran long fingers through his hair and flipped onto his stomach. When he closed his eyes again, he saw Lindsay Raveneau: a shaft of sunlight on her reddish curls, color suffusing her fair cheeks, a glint of fire in her rare, smoky eyes. He wondered what her smile would be like, then decided it was better that he didn't know. Miss Raveneau would be a female to avoid even if her father weren't the owner of Ryan's ship.

  A sudden instinct caused him to end his fantasy abruptly, then rise to look through the transom at the far end of the cabin. Ryan couldn't see anything, but the slight shifting of the Chimera told him that there were boats on the river.

  "Captain!" Harvey burst in, his eyes blazing in the moonlight. With his usual flair for the dramatic, he cried, "The British have arrived under the cover of darkness to deal a fatal blow to all Pettipauge's ships!"

  Coleraine pulled on his boots, then followed his bounding steward up through the hatch onto the gun deck. Not far in the distance, chill winds whipped whitecaps on the dark waters around several double-banked, eight-oared boats that were crowded with red-uniformed soldiers. Obviously, the British had left their larger ships in the sound and rowed the five miles to Pettipauge, but Ryan saw that they had come prepared. His sharp eyes discerned nine-and twelve-pound cannonades, boarding pikes, bayonets, and other sundry equipment necessary for naval attack. Even worse, there were torches, already being lit.

  "My God, they mean to burn us all out of the water!" he whispered hoarsely.

  "So it would seem, sir," Harvey agreed in mournful tones.

  The rest of the crew was struggling up on deck, bleary-eyed from the night's celebrations. Coleraine's heart thudded as he realized how many were absent. It was his own fault. He'd been hard on them at sea and they'd performed beautifully. Today, when the officers and crew had come together in the Griswold Inn's taproom, hoisting frothy mugs of ale, their benevolent Captain Coleraine had granted a night's leave to anyone who wished it. It seemed that more than half the crew had accepted the offer, including his first lieutenant.

  Chaos seemed to erupt around the Chimera. Men were barreling down Main Street and lining up along the Point, muskets in hand. Ryan felt as if he were having a bizarre dream as he watched the villagers load their one viable weapon, a four-pound cannon.

  Meanwhile, flames shot up from the vessel that was under construction next to the Chimera. The British were returning Pettipauge's attack with their own cannonades, and British marines lined up along the barges to deliver a volley of musket fire.

  "Captain, what shall we do?" cried Drew, the Chimera's first mate.

  Ryan leaned against the main mast and smiled crookedly. "There isn't a thing anyone can do. We're at anchor; we can't position ourselves to return fire, and you know it. They're prepared and we aren't." It galled him to admit defeat without a struggle, but he was a pragmatist. He'd never attacked without knowing that the odds were in his favor and thus had never lost. Ryan knew every member of his crew and he wasn't prepared to see even one killed for a futile point of pride.

  The cannon fire had come to a stop on the Point. The men, realizing that it was hopeless, laid down their muskets to indicate that they would offer no further resistance. Even from a distance, Ryan could see the burning frustration in their eyes.

  "Captain, look!" Drew exclaimed at his shoulder.

  Coleraine glanced back, then followed his first mate's pointing finger to the flames that were spreading over the deck of the nearly completed ship next to the Chimera. It had promised to be Andre Raveneau's finest accomplishment, a privateer that Ryan had been forced to admit would surpass even his own sleek and beautiful vessel.

  "I know, Drew, it's a damned shame, but you may as well brace yourself. I fear we're destined to lose the Chimera as well—and every other ship at anchor in Pettipauge."

  "That's not what I mean! Look, near the stern! There's a boy trying to douse the fire!"

  Ryan surveyed the neighboring craft through his brass telescope. Drew was right. A boy was crouching on the quarterdeck, heaving a wooden bucket of water into the flames on the gun deck below. He wore a sailor's knit cap pulled low, but coppery curls escaped from the sides, and there was something about the profile of the boy's face and the shape of his legs and hips that made Ryan's insides knot with foreboding.

  Turning to the first mate, he said, "I'm going to remove that boy from the ship. I ought to be all right alone but stand by to assist me."

  There was a momentary lull in other activity as the British organized for the row to shore. Grimly, Ryan sprinted down the Chimera's gangplank and boarded the adjoining vessel. Through the billowing smoke and leaping flames, he discerned the slight figure of the ship's would-be savior coming toward him.

  "Come on! Are you trying to kill yourself?"

  The boy was choking on the smoke and had one arm over his eyes as he staggered forward with the cumbersome bucket. "Can't let it burn!" he croaked.

  Ryan grasped the thin arm. "You're coming with me!" His own eyes burned from the smoke and he could barely make out the boy's face.

  "Let go!" Fiercely, the boy wrenched free and, pulling off his coat, began batting the spreading flames. The coat caught fire, sending orange flames licking toward the boy's pale, sooty face. Just then a steely arm came around his midsection, hoisting him into the air. "Let me be!" he shrieked.

  "I have no intention of watching you burn to death, you little fool," Coleraine ground out, hoisting the slim form over his shoulder and fighting his way through the flames and smoke toward the gangplank. His struggle was complicated by the flailing legs of his captive and the fists that rained ineffectual blows against his back. "Stop that, you hellion, before I toss you in the river and let the British fish you out!"

  "They couldn't be worse villains than you!" came the furious reply.

  Returning to the Chimera was an ordeal, but finally Ryan was back on his own quarterdeck. Harvey and Drew stepped forward to relieve him of his burden. The boy continued to struggle wildly against the restraining grips on each arm while Ryan rubbed his eyes and sighed. Finally, with slow deliberation, he reached out and removed the knit cap, freeing cascades of luxuriant golden-rose curls.

  "I feared as much," he murmured, arching a brow. "Miss Raveneau, do you really think it safe to venture out of the house so late at night? I doubt that your parents would approve."

  ***~~~***

  Excerpt from

  Silver Sea

  (previously published as BARBADOS)

  Raveneau Novel #3

  by

  Cynthia Wright

  ***~~~***

  Excerpt

  March 1818

  London, England

  Holding a candlestick in one hand, Adrienne Beauvisage eased open the door to the Frakes-Hogg nursery. Little Ellie and Beth were sleeping peacefully in their beds as their governess tiptoed over for a closer look. Angelic pink cheeks, long lashes, and dark curls made them appear unscathed by their mother's recent death.

  Sensing Adrienne's presence, Beth opened her eyes and whispered, "I wish you could be our mummy now."

  How could she say that she despised their father and had stayed this long only because of the girls? "I couldn't love you more if I were your mummy."

  "Good." Smiling, she went back to sleep.

  Adrienne's heart ached as she tucked her in again, then returned to the corridor. Not a day passed that didn't find her struggling anew with the problem of the insidious attentions paid to her by the girls' father, Walter Frakes-Hogg.

  Two years earlier, when Adrienne had completed her education at age eighteen, her parents had begged her to come home to the family chateau in France, but she'd insisted upon seeking employment and fulfilling her ambition to teach. Above all, Adrienne craved independence. Though bright and beautiful, she had no desire to pursue a place in London society, which she considered superficial.

  After Walter Frakes-Hogg persuaded her to become the live-in governess to his tiny daughters, Adrienne h
ad fallen in love with the girls instantly. Because their mother, Jane, was bedridden, they needed more than knowledge from Adrienne, and she had tried to bring some warmth and cheer into the gloomy house. She was encouraged to feel like a member of the family, and to call Mr. and Mrs. Frakes-Hogg by their Christian names.

  Now, making her way down the arched corridor lit only by her single candle, she was grateful that Walter was away tonight, paying a condolence call on his newly widowed sister-in-law. When had she first begun to have doubts about her employer? Surely there had been unsettling moments before Jane's death, but in those days he'd been home so seldom and she had been too to ponder Walter's odd behavior. At times, she'd had the sensation that he was staring at her from across the room, but then he'd smile at her calmly and Adrienne would shake off the feeling.

  Since Jane's death, however, Walter had begun to make remarks that gave her chills, all the while staring into her eyes and smiling. He hinted that she could be well taken care of if she considered his needs as well as those of the little girls, but his threats were always so subtly veiled that Adrienne doubted her own instincts.

  Once, when she had been climbing a tree with Ellie and Beth, Walter had offered to help them down from the lowest branch. He caught the girls, then insisted that Adrienne fall into his arms—and when she did, he slid his hand under her skirts while pressing her breasts to his ribs. His scent, a mixture of sandalwood and strong spirits, caused Adrienne's stomach to lurch.

  Finally, there had been the night she awoke from a deep sleep to the sound of her doorknob rattling. If she hadn't taken the precaution of bolting her door, who knew what might have happened? Yet, in the daylight, Adrienne wondered if it had been a nightmare.

  Many an hour she daydreamed about surrendering to convention and either going home to the safety of Chateau du Soleil and the love of her family, or joining London society with her friends from Mrs. Harrington's Seminary for the Daughters of Gentlemen. Anything would be preferable to this gloomy place. Adrienne might be unconventional, but she wasn't a recluse. If only there were a solution for Ellie and Beth...

  Her bedchamber, though spacious, was dark, cold, and lonely. Adrienne used her candle to light oil lamps on the bureau, then turned toward the bed and nearly screamed aloud.

  "Good evening, my dear." Walter Frakes-Hogg was sitting in a hard chair next to her bed, his coat lying near her pillow. The lamplight played eerily over his long face and tall, spare frame. Though only middle aged, he had prematurely white hair, and drink had reddened the ends of his ears and nose.

  Her heart was hammering, but she strove for composure. It wouldn't do to let him sense her terror. "I must ask you not to enter my rooms uninvited, sir. If you like, I will speak to you in the sitting room...."

  "No. I like it here, and I make the rules. Had you forgotten?" He drank from a glass on the nightstand and loosened his cravat.

  She hated the way he could smile and be evil at the same time. "Why have you come home from Mrs. Halper's, sir?"

  "My sister-in-law means to move into the house with us, to take care of the girls."

  "But that's wonderful news! I think highly of Mrs. Halper, and she will be able to give them so much that was lost when their mother died."

  "I don't want her here. I'd rather have just you." His dark eyes glittered. "But she hasn't any money, no place else to go. I came home early to think of a way to foil her plan."

  Adrienne felt dizzy with fear as she noticed that Walter's speech was impaired by drink. Should she run from the room? "Sir, you really must consider the needs of the children. You're away a great deal, and they need the love of their aunt."

  "We'd rather have your love." He got to his feet and advanced toward her. "I'm certain we can discuss arrangements... hmm?" Bleary-eyed, Walter looked her up and down. He began to unfasten his shirt, muttering, "Wouldn't you like that?"

  Before she could run for the door, he had captured her wrist and was drawing her into his arms. Adrienne realized that there was only one way to ensure her escape. She returned his feral smile. "You are so commanding, sir."

  "Ah, charming, charming." Boldly, he put a hand on her breast. "We must get rid of these missish gowns you favor, find something more revealing. You certainly have the shape for it."

  Bile rose in Adrienne's throat. "No man has ever made me feel attractive until now."

  "I can teach you things you never imagined."

  "Oh, sir, I—I feel faint." She backed away from his looming mouth. "Can we sit down on the bed?"

  "By all means, my dear girl! That's passion, going to your head. Come to think of it, I feel a bit lightheaded myself. Perhaps we ought to rest together...."

  Adrienne watched him lie back. When his shirt fell open, she saw a strawberry birthmark in the middle of his bony white chest. There was a bulge in his trousers, and he was breathing hard. "Sir?"

  "Yes, my beauty?"

  She sat down beside him. "I feel so shy. Will you close your eyes and let me practice kissing you the first time?"

  Overcome by lust, Walter squeezed his groin with one hand and put the other back on her breast. "Christ, you're so young and firm. I can't stand it—"

  "Close your eyes, sir," she whispered coquettishly. When he obeyed, Adrienne reached under her pillow for the dagger that she had placed there the night he'd tried to come into her room. Now, trembling inside, she pushed it against his flabby throat. "I despise you! You have tried to use power to have your way with me, and I hate you for it. Now get up."

  Disbelief and rage clashed in his eyes. "Little strumpet! Give me that thing before I turn it back on you."

  "If you try, I'll kill you. I would have no regrets."

  "Don't be stupid. If you do this, I'll make you pay!"

  "There are ways I could make you pay if you threaten me. Couldn't I ruin your reputation if I chose? Now get up. Put your hands in the air. Higher!" Adrienne moved the knifepoint to the middle of his back and poked it in far enough to draw blood. "You know, I wish I could kill you. Your daughters would be happier without you."

  Something in her tone gave Walter Frakes-Hogg pause. She meant it. He let her force him into the tiny dressing room, then listened as she locked the door.

  "You are going to be exceedingly sorry!" he yelled.

  "Save your breath. You'll never see me again!" As she spoke, Adrienne dragged a satchel out from under her bed. It had been packed and ready, just in case, since the day she'd hidden the dagger under her pillow. Thank God for her darkest suspicions! Now she stepped out of the room, locked the door, and fled down the shadowy corridor. She would take the girls with her in a hackney, drop them at Mrs. Halper's, and trust her to look after them.

  For her own part, Adrienne knew that she must conceal her whereabouts from Walter Frakes-Hogg. He was capable of all manner of revenge, for she had humiliated him in the worst way a woman could humiliate a man.

  As she got little Ellie and Beth out of their beds and prayed that Walter wouldn't break free and kill them all, Adrienne realized that she'd give anything to have her papa come to her rescue.

  * * *

  "Won't you have a whiskey, Papa?" Adrienne paused hopefully beside the celleret in the corner of her father's sitting room. Nicholai Beauvisage was occupying an elegant suite in the St. James Royal Hotel, but after a fortnight away from his French chateau and Lisette, his beautiful wife of twenty-five years, he was unappreciative of his surroundings. He wanted to leave London—and take his daughter with him.

  "I don't want a whiskey. I'll tell you what I do want—"

  "You are frightfully edgy!" she interrupted quickly. "Perhaps a drink would settle your nerves."

  "I don't need whiskey to settle my nerves," Nicholai replied with a dark stare. "What I need is obedience and respect from my wayward offspring!"

  She blinked. "I detest the word 'obedience.' While I was at school, Mrs. Harrington insisted that I must have been born with a rebellious streak, since I could not respond to her efforts t
o subdue my spirit."

  "I suppose you mean to turn your behavior back on me somehow!" He watched his daughter laugh and tried not to betray the softening of his heart. Gad, but Adrienne was magical—an effervescent mixture of beauty, keen wits, blind courage, and sheer charm. Who could resist the sight of her, with her chestnut curls caught up in a soft Grecian knot, her thick-lashed green eyes sparkling with mischief, and her dimples setting off a flawless, creamy complexion? If she could cultivate manners to match her appearance, eligible men would clamor for her hand in marriage, and then someone else could worry about her safety.

  "I recognize that wistful expression, Papa," Adrienne said more gently. Joining him on the Sheraton settee, she patted his hand. "I know that you still hope to convince me to return to France with you—"

  "My dear, when you wrote to us last month, you didn't seem to need convincing. If you're in danger here in London, why have you changed your mind?"

  "It was just a passing mood, Papa. I'm feeling much braver now, and I know that a quiet existence at Chateau du Soleil wouldn't make me happy. Nor am I suited to marriage, so you may as well cease gazing off into space and dreaming that I will be transformed into a proper member of London society." Adrienne leaned her head on his shoulder, as she had as a little girl. "We've had this same conversation every day since you came to London to take me home. Just because I am finished with school does not mean that I must either marry or live with you and Maman in France!"

  "You are aging me decades each day," Nicholai lamented.