"Has marriage tamed you completely?" Her eyes roamed over him. "A little madness can be delicious."
The guinea fowl were scratching in the garden below, sending up their incessant creaking call, and a rosy-gold light filled the bedroom. A soft island breeze wafted in, carrying with it the distant sound of the Atlantic rollers breaking on the beach.
Nathan looked into Adrienne's sultry eyes and felt the answering heat in his own loins. "Are you accusing me, your husband, of going soft?" He arched a dark brow.
"I know better than to make such a foolish charge." She grinned.
"Might I remind you that I have done battle at sea tonight?"
"My hero!" Adrienne climbed onto his lap, and they exchanged a long, smoldering kiss. "You can tell me all about your shipwreck on the way to our beach. Then you can lie back on the sand and let the water come over you, and I'll straddle your hips... if you take my meaning..."
"I am persuaded that we can sleep another day."
With that, they scrambled off the bed, grabbing up clothes and laughing, heading off to enjoy another Barbados sunrise.
The End
Author's Note
Like most of my books, Silver Sea evolved over a period of years, beginning with a brief trip I made to Barbados in 1987. I learned about Sam Lord, "The Regency Rascal," who may have lured ships onto the rocks near his mansion on the island's east coast. Since many doubt that Sam Lord carried out the evil deeds with which he's been credited, I decided to create my own character—Xavier Crowe!—based on Sam Lord's legend. "Crowe's Nest," the home of my character, Xavier Crowe, is nearly identical to Sam Lord's Castle, which has been restored and is now the centerpiece for a Marriott resort.
I came to love Barbados while doing research for this book and its companion, Tempest. I found a home away from home during two stays at the century-old pink Ocean View Hotel, where owner John Chandler made me welcome. John, his staff, and his friends spent hours answering my questions and telling incredible stories. I tasted all the great Bajan dishes, home cooked at the Ocean View, and learned about the flora and fauna from John, who filled the hotel with his own floral arrangements, gathered from all over the island. One special day, John took me for a customized all-day tour—and, among other hidden treasures, introduced us to Cave Bay (the sight of "Victoria Villa"). Incredible! You can't even imagine the color of the water, and there really is a ruined plantation house there (circa 1910, John reckons). Its real name is Harrismith.
Since the 1995 publication of Silver Sea (then titled Barbados), the Ocean View Hotel has closed, but John Chandler has gone on to manage the even more wonderful Fisherpond House, a plantation house built in 1635 where you can spend the night or just enjoy a special meal. It's filled with John's extraordinary antiques and colorful personality!
If you have a chance to travel to Barbados, you may hear people of all colors speaking Bajan, a rich, hybrid language that intermingles African and European speech. You'll also be able to visit many of the locations from Silver Sea, and you can tour St. Nicholas Abbey, my inspiration for Nathan's home, Tempest Hall. St. Nicholas Abbey is a wonderfully maintained seventeenth-century Jacobean-style plantation, where the four fireplaces have never been used, the sandbox tree still towers in back, and the guinea fowl scurry about making their creaking calls.
And, if you go to Barbados, you might sample the flying fish and callaloo, smell the fragrant plumeria, see the wild green monkeys playing, and swim in the ocean at sunrise, imagining all the while what the island was like for Adrienne and Nathan....
In the coming months, I'll be releasing Tempest for the first time! It's set in Newport, Rhode Island and Barbados, in 1903. The hero is Nathan and Adrienne's grandson, Adam Raveneau, who's gambled away most of the family fortune and needs funds to restore the now-crumbling Tempest Hall. Cathy, the heroine, is a Newport heiress who must be rescued from an arranged marriage to a boring duke. They need each other, but is it love? Come back to Barbados with me and find out.
Until then, thank you again for reading and enjoying my books. I appreciate every one of you!
Cynthia Wright
Page forward for more by Cynthia Wright
Excerpt from
Silver Storm
Special Author's Cut Edition
Raveneau Novel #1
by
Cynthia Wright
SILVER STORM is the story of Devon Lindsay, a high-spirited girl who lives in New London, CT during the Revolutionary War. Since the death of her father and brother at sea, Devon and her mother have run a small shop, struggling to make ends meet. She dreams of growing up and going to sea herself, longing to see the world, and spins dreams and plans with her childhood friend, Morgan Gadwin. During Chapter One, 13-year-old Devon is captivated by her first sight of the legendary privateer captain Andre Raveneau. Word reaches New London that war has broken out between England and the Colonies, and Devon's schoolmaster, Nathan Hale leaves to join the militia. Chapter Two begins five years later, when Devon is 18.
From Chapter Two.
October 20, 1780
New London glowed with autumn's deepest colors. Leaves of crimson, gold, rust, and saffron blanketed the stone walls that bordered every road; pumpkins lay fat and orange on their vines; bright red apples dripped from orchard branches.
Devon, at eighteen, seemed an additional gift of the season. Her cloud of strawberry-blond curls and her soft creamy skin were more beautiful than ever against the fiery leaves, and the sight of her on the street lightened the hearts of the war-weary citizens.
On this October afternoon she strolled toward the Beach, a faded hatbox swinging on her arm. Deborah had labored for hours over the bonnet that Nick had ordered for his wife's birthday, a perfect copy of a European original. Devon had stern instructions to deliver it directly to the Nicholson home, yet she could not resist the urge to make a detour along the waterfront. Pausing in the shadow of a Shaw warehouse, she surveyed the activity on the docks. True to her mother's prediction, war had changed New London. The past five years seemed like a dark eternity.
The town itself harbored nearly sixty successful privateers, and the anchorage was used by vessels from all over America, even Europe. Many New London men had chosen to join the army, and ships had been built for the State and Continental navies, but privateering was supreme. Privately owned vessels had been armed and fitted out at their owners' expense for the purpose of capturing enemy craft, and everyone—owners, crew, and the government—divided the booty. Five years ago it had all seemed a great romantic adventure.
Devon thought sadly of the night she had said goodbye to Nathan Hale. Eighteen months later the young captain she had so admired had disguised himself as a Dutch schoolmaster to spy on the British who occupied Long Island. He was discovered and hanged on September 22, 1776. Too many men, men she had known since birth, were now dead like Mr. Hale, or imprisoned.
New London lived under a cloud of fear; even now Devon could see a great British ship anchored to the south in Long Island Sound. The townspeople expected to be attacked at any moment and there had been countless false alarms, leading to the evacuation of all women, children, the ill, and the elderly. Devon's heart tightened at the remembered nightmares: screaming, sobbing, praying all around her as wagons rumbled out of town in the middle of the night.
Less than a month ago General Benedict Arnold had conspired to surrender West Point to the British. Though his plot had been discovered, he had escaped, and New London continued to reel under the shocking blow, for Arnold had grown up just ten miles north, in Norwich. Until now, his exploits had been a source of deep pride to everyone from the area. Disillusionment and mistrust abounded. Neighbors and lifelong friends suspected one another of being Tories; several had actually admitted their loyalties and left for British-occupied New York town, including the local Anglican minister.
Despite the dark days and harsh realities that had been thrust on Devon, she still passionately wished that she were a boy so t
hat she might sail off to fight for America's independence. No one cheered more loudly than Devon when Fort Griswold's cannon fired the three-shot signal to greet the latest privateer returning with its prize. Her heart would swell with joy and pride at the sight of the rakish craft sailing up the Thames, laden with cargo from British ships. Devon knew that New London was truly hurting the British, and she was convinced that the hardships of the past five years had not been suffered in vain.
A chilly breeze swept off the Thames and Devon stepped into the sunlight. Approaching the docks, she scanned the sleek, lightweight vessels at anchor and strove to appear nonchalant in her search for the Black Eagle.
She saw him first, shouting orders on the deck of his ship.
Many of the captains and officers who sailed privateers had achieved glamorous reputations, but none could match Andre Raveneau, who at thirty-two had become a legend. Men thought him the most daring, successful, and charmed of captains; women knew only that they went weak in his devastatingly handsome presence. Raveneau had given his time, his expertise, and his beautiful privateer Black Eagle to the American cause for reasons he chose not to discuss. Of course, averaging a dozen prizes a year, he had become abundantly wealthy, but there were plenty of less hazardous ways to pursue riches. Because of Raveneau's fearlessness and his ability to succeed in the face of seemingly impossible odds, townspeople whispered that he was allied with the devil.
Devon watched as he jumped lightly to the wharf, her heart racing and palms icy. Raveneau had fascinated her for five years, though he was dangerous-looking, his dark face chiseled and unsmiling. He strode past Devon, but she might as well have been a barrel of molasses for all the notice he paid her.
As he disappeared around the corner, Devon wondered why he didn't look at her the way other men did. In the past two years strangers had begun to stare openly at her blossoming figure and exquisite face. However, since most healthy eligible males had gone to war, most of these admirers were either old men or adolescent boys...
"Good day to you, miss!" a husky voice called. Startled, Devon spun around to face a stocky, genial-looking young man whose sandy hair was queued neatly at his neck. "Have you business on the Black Eagle? Perhaps I might help?" A square hand reached out, but Devon eluded it. She was beginning to regret coming down here, for no decent girl would wander the docks alone.
"No... I—"
"Devon!"
She gasped with relief at the sound of Morgan's voice, and took his arm enthusiastically. "I'm so glad to see you! You can walk me to Nick's. I have this hat to deliver to Temperance, and Mother will thrash me if I'm not back soon." As they started off, she nodded to the sandy-haired privateersman, who shrugged good-naturedly.
Morgan was delighted by Devon's attention, for he still adored her. The years had added a few inches to his height, but he fell far short of six feet, and his shoulders remained narrow. To his chagrin, Devon continued to treat him as an affectionate friend.
"I heard today that we won a great victory at King's Mountain," Morgan said, conscious of her arm linked through his.
"Oh, that's splendid news," Devon said awkwardly.
Morgan's face burned, for he knew what was on her mind. For two years she had been urging him to sign on with a privateer or even join the army and had been confused and disappointed by his refusal. His excuse was that his father needed him, for both his brothers were gone, one at sea, the other a soldier. Morgan could never admit that he was simply afraid. The thought of battle made him nauseous; he even had nightmares about it.
"My brother Tyler's company may have been engaged in the battle," he said hastily, thinking to absorb a bit of family glory. "Last we heard, they were nearby."
"I am certain he was the hero of the hour." Devon couldn't help the accusing note that crept into her voice.
They walked in silence for several minutes. Morgan wished that he could calm the fever in his body. It seemed to intensify each time he was near Devon, and he feared that only she could cure it. Other boys his age—the few who remained in town—had found relief with the easy women who haunted the docks. One evening, after hours spent lying innocently in the grass with Devon, he had taken his aching groin down to the Beach and had stood and watched the painted harlots. One had actually approached him, but her brazen manner had scared him to death.
I want Devon and only Devon, he thought now, and the words seemed to sear his brain. She still talked of their future together... surely she would not reject the advances of her husband-to-be? If not for the chaos of the war, they probably would have been married already! Impulsively, he put an arm around her slender waist. She glanced up in surprise, then smiled. Morgan's heart began to pound.
Devon was feeling sorry that she had spoken to him so impatiently. She must not press him to do her will, she thought. Morgan was Morgan, and she of all people should be able to accept the fact that he was not a warrior at heart. Still...
Unbidden, the dark image of Andre Raveneau filled Devon's mind and a chill ran down her spine. She could not understand the madness that swept her at the mere thought of him! Still painfully innocent, Devon was curious, yet fearful, about these feelings she had. The fact that they were confined to a rakish privateer captain who did not know she existed was bewildering.
Feeling her shiver, Morgan tightened his hold. Devon, guilty, leaned against him. Her face flushed self-consciously. Morgan took that as a good sign. She's shy but willing! he thought. His fingers fanned out from her waist to touch the soft curving hip. He felt a hot pressure spread down his belly.
"Devon..." he gulped. "Look at those apple trees! I am famished. Have you have time to stop?"
"Well..." she murmured doubtfully.
"Come on!"
Morgan led her past dozens of beckoning branches to the tree farthest from the road. Plucking an apple for each of them, he persuaded her to sit down.
"Captain Clark made it back safely from the West Indies today," Devon commented. "I heard his tales of Jamaica in the shop today, and I simply ached to see what he has seen. Such adventures! When we sail, Morgan, the West Indies must be our first stop. I want to run barefoot on the white beaches, and—"
"Devon!" Morgan rasped. He suddenly lunged forward and enfolded her in a clumsy embrace. Shocked at first, Devon soon allowed her curiosity to take hold. So this was to be her first kiss! Rather excited, she relaxed and waited for Morgan to proceed.
Briefly he froze, then Devon felt wet, trembling lips press against hers. Revolted, she started to pull away, but Morgan shoved her backward into the grass and fell on top of her. His tongue invaded her mouth; he rubbed his body against hers, flattening her breasts. A bulge under his breeches pressed into her belly, edged lower. Devon reacted violently. She pushed at him with all her might and yanked the hair fastened at his neck until he screeched and rolled away from her.
"Morgan Gadwin, have you gone mad? Are you possessed? What lunacy was that?" Devon scrambled to her feet, rearranging her faded blue gown, eyes blazing at the mortified Morgan. "You scared me half to death!"
He sat with knees drawn up to hide his shame. "I thought you loved me!" he mumbled at last, looking up with stricken eyes. "I'm... sorry. I didn't mean to... I just need you so much!"
Softening, she knelt on the grass and reached to smooth his hair. "I do love you, Morgan, but that attack scared the wits out of me!"
"I'm sorry," he repeated woefully, encouraged when her hand moved to pat his shoulder. "I won't be so rough—next time. I love you, Devon!"
"I love you, too." She kissed his brow with bittersweet affection.
"Wasn't it even a little exciting for you?" Morgan demanded anxiously, watching her face.
Forcing a smile, Devon managed, "Well... of course. It was my first kiss, after all."
They stood up, brushing brittle leaves off their clothing.
"Morgan. I really must go. No, I'll go alone. I have to hurry, or Mother will be furious."
He started to reach for her, bu
t Devon slipped away and ran out onto the road. Tears of disillusionment blurred her eyes as she turned west toward Nick's house.
* * *
The Nicholson home was located on Union Street, not far from the schoolhouse, and its cobalt-blue exterior was a symbol of warm, happy times to Devon.
She loved to visit here, having shamelessly invented excuses over the years. Now, as she lifted the brass knocker, Morgan's kisses began to fade from her thoughts.
Rebecca, the buxom, white-haired housekeeper, opened the door. She smelled of cinnamon, tea, and freshly baked bread.
"Miss Devon! It's good to see you! You get prettier every day."
"Thank you, Rebecca. I'm glad to see you, too! I brought this for your mistress—a birthday gift Nick ordered."
"Shhh! It's supposed to be a surprise. Miss Temperance is abed again today, but you know that she has keen hearing! Why don't you just take that into the library? Oh, no! Wait—there's a visitor. Let me ask the master."
Rebecca lumbered off, leaving Devon to gaze around the cozy, cream-colored stairhall. Temperance Nicholson, though sweet and gentle, was forever imagining herself stricken by some terrible illness. Devon was of the opinion that she simply enjoyed a life of leisure, tucked into bed with a novel and a tray of imported sweetmeats. Somehow she always managed a recovery in time for Sunday church, only to develop a new malady on Monday.
Rebecca returned, and said, "You can go in, lass. You're just in time for tea."
Devon grinned, picked up the hatbox, and sauntered down the hall to the library, only to stand paralyzed on the threshold. Two men stood up, and Nick came forward to take her hand, which had gone cold as ice.
"Devon! Do get hold of yourself," he whispered, chuckling. With a flourish, he turned back to his guest and pulled Devon to the center of the room. "My dear, I would like you to meet Captain Andre Raveneau. Andre, this is Devon Lindsay, my goddaughter. She is fascinated by the sea, so I knew she would enjoy a chance to converse with you!"
Silver Sea Page 38
