Natalya (59 page)

"I—I—" she stammered. Hearing Betsy's muffled giggle, she looked in her direction. "You may go now, Elizabeth."

"But what about my theme? I'm not finished yet!"

"You may finish it tonight."

As the teacher and pupil continued to argue, Coleraine's dark blue eyes wandered over Lindsay Raveneau. He was surprised to discover that she was beautiful, perhaps even more beautiful than her mother. She was about twenty and taller than Devon Raveneau. Even though Lindsay wore a demure, cream-colored chemise frock and a cashmere shawl, Ryan's practiced eyes detected a lithe, long-legged body with a narrow waist and high, perfect breasts. Her hair was the same amazing rosy-gold shade as her mother's, and she wore it in a fashionable Grecian knot high atop her head, with a profusion of soft curls escaping to frame her lovely, intelligent countenance.

"Good-bye, Captain Coleraine," Betsy said as she passed him in the doorway.

Ryan looked at Lindsay. "Dare I enter? I can assure you that I have come not to ruin your reputation but to inquire after your father."

"Please, come in. I apologize for the things you heard me say about you, but you should have made your presence known instead of eavesdropping."

He approached her desk, thinking that he had never met a young lady with so cool and confident a gaze. Lindsay's eyes were striking: thick-lashed and the color of smoke. Her complexion was creamy, with smudges of pink accentuating her cheekbones, and below a delicate nose reposed a mouth with a frankly sensual lower lip. Perhaps there was hope for this bluestocking after all, he thought as his eyes lingered there, then rose to meet her questioning gaze.

"My father is in Philadelphia, Captain Coleraine."

"So I heard. It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Raveneau." Ryan extended a strong hand and gently clasped hers. "I'm sorry that you're unable to say the same."

Sensing his amusement, Lindsay strove to retain her composure. What a humiliating situation this was! "It's been a long day, Captain Coleraine, and I may have spoken rashly. Again, I beg your pardon. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to finish my work here. How can I help you?"

"I am anxious to see your father. Able Barker thought that you might know when he's returning to Pettipauge."

"Within the week. I'm sorry that I can't give you an exact date."

Coleraine shrugged, frustration further darkening his mood. "Well, then, I suppose I'll just have to wait. I appreciate your speaking to me, Miss Raveneau. I know it can't have been easy." He gave her a cool smile and turned toward the schoolhouse doorway. "Good afternoon."

When his hand touched the latch, Lindsay called, "Wait! There's something I've always wanted to know. Will you tell me how you chose the
Chimera's
name? I was surprised when Papa told me that you had christened her."

He glanced back over one broad shoulder. "I liked the image of a she-monster with a serpent's tail, a goat's body, and a lion's head spitting flames. I think of my ship like the chimera from Greek mythology: a magical creature with the ability to overcome all obstacles."

Lindsay lifted her chin slightly. "I wouldn't have expected you to be a student of Greek mythology, Captain."

He laughed shortly. "Believe it or not, Miss Raveneau, I don't spend
every
spare moment seducing unsuspecting young females!"

The door closed behind him and Lindsay found herself alone in the schoolroom, muttering rude rejoinders that she was certain she'd never have an opportunity to employ.

* * *

Misty clouds veiled the luminous, perfect crescent moon that hung suspended in a black sky. Lindsay knew that midnight had passed, yet she continued to sit at her window, gazing down at Main Street. At one end, ships, including the imposing
Chimera,
swayed at anchor along the Point, while at the other end, Main Street was bordered with clean white houses that shaded upward into Pound Hill.

The village was quiet now except for an occasional sailor or two emerging from the Griswold Inn. Lindsay guessed they must be from the
Chimera,
still celebrating their sea triumphs.

Earlier that evening, Able Barker had repeated a rumor that the
Chimera
would head a fleet of ships from Pettipauge that would slip into the sound in an effort to break the British blockade near New London. Able had marveled, "What an honor for Captain Coleraine! Your father certainly knew what he was doing when he gave that Irishman command of the
Chimera!"

Able's wife, Cassie, was the family's housekeeper. Still pretty and buxom at fifty, she never missed an opportunity to tease her earnest husband. Lindsay sighed now, remembering how Cassie's eyes had twinkled as she rejoined, "I think the women of Pettipauge have benefited most! Ah, but it's pure pleasure to behold Ryan Coleraine! How I hope that Lindsay's parents invite him to supper when they return from Philadelphia!"

It was certainly a strong possibility, Lindsay thought, propping an elbow on the windowsill and resting her chin on her hand. She was unnerved to realize how much time she had spent this evening reviewing her meeting with Ryan Coleraine—and unconsciously spinning fantasies for the visit he would doubtless pay to her home after her parents returned. She tried to give herself the same lecture she'd delivered to Elizabeth Urquhart about the foolishness of mooning over a rake like Coleraine. Still... when he'd smiled at her with those blue eyes, female instincts Lindsay hadn't known she possessed had kindled deep inside of her. The mere thought of him sent a current of exhilaration through her heart, while her mind shouted, "Danger! Beware!"

I have to get some sleep, Lindsay thought. She was just about to turn from the window when she caught sight of a tall, broad-shouldered, lean-hipped figure silhouetted in moonlight on the street below. Lindsay didn't need to see the man's face to know that it was Ryan Coleraine. Perhaps it was the way he cocked his head ever so slightly to the right before bending to kiss the woman he held in his arms. Lindsay couldn't identify her and realized that she didn't want to. The embrace was continuing as Lindsay drew her curtains closed and turned toward the bed, her cheeks burning.

In bed, she stared at the canopy and thought, I was right the first time. The man's a
tomcat.
He'd turn his charm on for anything that wears skirts. Thank God I came to my senses and took his measure before I did something incredibly foolish!

* * *

Yanking off his boots in total darkness, Ryan Coleraine supposed that the hour of three must be at hand. Certainly it was the middle of the night and he was a fool to be awake. Harvey, his literate steward, would be shaking him at dawn, waving coffee under his nose and urging him to eat the plate of scones, kippers, and eggs he specially prepared for his master.

With a moan, Ryan threw himself down on his moonlit bunk. Muscles flexed over his hard, tapering chest as he crossed both arms over his eyes, too tired even to remove the ever-present books that poked his side and the sole of his left foot.

The woman's scent lingered on his skin. Frowning, Coleraine removed his arms from the vicinity of his face. He wasn't proud of what he'd done tonight; he wasn't even certain of the woman's name. Kathryn? Kathleen? They'd just met that evening. Her husband had been killed at Fort Erie and she'd been alone ever since. Ryan supposed that Kathryn (Kathleen?) and he had come together out of mutual need, and the woman was certainly an adult, but he'd seen the familiar softening in her eyes when she looked at him, heard the note of joy in her voice, and, as always, he felt unsettling twinges of guilt. Now it would be necessary to avoid her, for Ryan certainly had no intention of using the woman on a regular basis. If his mother were still alive, she'd label him a sinner, but that wasn't quite true. At least he told himself so late at night when sleep wouldn't come. Ryan never took a woman who wasn't willing, and he backed away instantly if he sensed that she hoped for love. He hadn't been raised to break women's hearts, but at the same time he had no wish to marry and believed celibacy a sacrifice for saints. Nights with women like Kathryn (Kathleen?) were inevitable.

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!"