Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1) (16 page)

* * *

Minter held Devon's arm on the way back to
the captain's cabin, for she was woozy.

"Oh, Minter, I ruined it all!" she wailed.
"The men hate me now, don't they!"

"For goodness' sake, Miss Lindsay, don't cry.
They don't hate you. They like you a great deal, but everyone is
fiercely loyal to Captain Raveneau."

"I thought Caleb had turned them against
him."

Minter understood what she meant. "The men
knew Jackson for what he was, and they worship Captain Raveneau.
They trust him. Even if he did do something morally wrong keeping
you from Jackson, it would seem permissible since
he
did it.
To tell you the truth, we all rather hoped for a romance between
you and the captain. Certainly none of us wanted Jackson to have
you!"

Devon blushed and giggled, pausing to hug
Minter right there. "You are adorable, do you know that?"

"Thank you." He ducked his head. "Miss
Lindsay, I'm afraid you've had too much grog. It’s deceptively
powerful! Try not to fall over a chair, all right? The captain will
have my head!"

The cabin was dark, except for one lone
lantern that flickered on Raveneau's desk. He was in bed sleeping,
his chest and arms nut-brown against the snowy sheets.

Devon put out the candle and stripped to her
chemise. She lay her gown over the wing chair and padded softly to
the bed. Her heart jumped into her throat as she looked down at
Andre and contemplated sliding between the sheets, her body
touching his. Even in sleep he appeared incredibly strong and
magnificent, but above all, appealing.

It is like an enchantment, Devon thought
helplessly. She lifted the sheet and lay down. She inched closer to
him and brushed her fingertips over the black hair on his chest,
trailing them across his collarbone and down a lean, muscular
shoulder.

Raveneau stirred and rolled onto his side,
toward Devon. One long arm hooked her waist, drawing her against
the warm, hard length of his body. Then his mouth closed over hers.
"You reek of rum," he murmured huskily, then recaptured her
lips.

Devon was swept by a dizzying tide of desire.
She responded instantly to his kiss, while her hands traced the
planes of his broad back and narrow hips. He was naked, but that
didn't shock or surprise her; she boldly pressed herself closer to
him. Raveneau's kisses were slow, sleepy, and tantalizing. Tingling
currents of pleasure ran over Devon as he brushed his lips over her
throat and the soft curve of her shoulder. He drew the sheet away,
then deftly unfastened and removed her chemise. Moonlight silvered
her trim, eager body as he explored and teased every inch with
skillful fingers and mouth.

Despite the last shreds of Devon's pride, she
writhed with ecstasy and longing. Her hips sought his, driven by
primitive instinct. Raveneau's mouth was on hers again, one
hard-muscled arm clasping her back as his passion mounted, his
other hand cupping her buttocks, pressing her to his flat, hard
belly and his maleness. It felt warm, smooth, and immense against
Devon's soft skin. There was a sweet, wild throb in her hidden
female place; it did not pass, but grew ever more intense.

"Oh!" she gasped. "I want... I want..."

Raveneau sighed into her fragrant hair. "Ah,
petite chatte,
it is bad of me to do this, to take advantage
of you when you have had too much rum."

"I
want
you to!" Devon implored. "I
demand it!"

Raveneau chuckled softly. "I've warned you
that your willfulness would get you into trouble."

"Yes! Yes!" she groaned, touching him
anxiously. "Oh, I cannot bear another moment!"

"It is your own fault, for getting so tipsy.
Remember that."

Then he moved over her, kissing her lips,
neck, nuzzling her tender breasts with tantalizing skill. Every
nerve seemed exposed and Devon shivered in exquisite torment,
caressing her lover as he worked his magic on her. At last, gently,
Raveneau's fingers touched her aching desire. He stroked her
leisurely, again and again, until she opened slim legs to him.
After one last, searing kiss, Raveneau knelt to enter her. Devon,
feeling tiny and fragile beneath him, panicked momentarily, but the
instant he touched her she was lost. Now she knew what she had
yearned for since the first time this dangerously irresistible
Frenchman had kissed her in Nick's carriage. Clinging to him, her
nails digging into his back, she let him take her. The one stab of
pain was meaningless; it seemed an intrinsic part of the ecstasy.
Devon wrapped her legs around Andre's body, as they fused and
teasingly drew back, over and over, Raveneau's breath harsh against
her ear.

They shuddered together and Devon wondered at
the tremors that shook her. She floated, searched Raveneau's face
with her lips and kissed him, wanting never to let him go. They lay
entwined, blissfully spent.

***~~~***

September 11 and 12, 1781

The sheets were soft and warm, Andre's scent
mingling with her own. Devon burrowed into her pillow, luxuriating
in the sensation of smooth linen against bare skin. Half awake, she
put out a hand and was startled into alertness when her fingers
failed to encounter Raveneau.

He was gone. Frantic, Devon sat up, eyes open
wide. Her head hurt and she felt ill. The cabin was empty.

The grog. Devon was flooded with sickening
memories of all she had said and done the night before. And
Andre... was that a dream, or had it truly happened? The ache
between her legs confirmed her worst fears, and she heard his voice
again, warning:

"It is your own fault, for getting so tipsy.
Remember that."

Falling back against the pillow, she pressed
her palms to her throbbing head. She could close her eyes and see
him again and remember every touch, each word he had spoken. And a
voice in the farthest corner of her heart whispered, It was
wonderful, it was worth it, even if you never see him again!

See him! Devon opened her eyes, stricken. How
could she ever face Raveneau again? She had insisted that he make
love to her, had reached out to touch him intimately with no word
of encouragement, and had responded wildly to his every kiss and
touch. She had behaved brazenly, shamelessly. But the very scent of
him in the bed ignited her desire: even in her shame, she craved
him helplessly.

I will never drink another drop of that evil
grog again! Devon vowed. She tried to sit up on the edge of the bed
but felt strangely disembodied and off balance. Her shirt and
breeches were neatly folded on Raveneau's trunk, so she put them
on, pulled up the sheets to cover the smudges of dried blood, and
gratefully lay down again.

There was a familiar knock at the door.

"Come in, Minter." The words sounded garbled
to her own ears, but apparently they were clear enough, for the
door opened and Minter entered the cabin.

"Miss Lindsay? Are you feeling the
aftereffects of the grog?"

"I'm afraid so. It must be that, for I've
never been sick like this before."

"Yes. I should have warned you; it’s stronger
than it seems. I knew you shouldn’t have had that second
portion!"

"I wish you could have convinced me last
night, Minter." Gingerly, she sat up again and accepted the mug of
coffee he had brought.

"Well, I tried, but you kept shouting that
you were a sea captain's daughter and born to drink grog. The crew
was cheering you on—they thought you were wonderful!"

"Certainly. I was the most entertainment
they've had for weeks, I'll wager."

Minter smiled ruefully. "You know, Miss
Lindsay, we've reached Chesapeake Bay. We're anchored beside the
French fleet."

"Oh?" Devon's stomach knotted with
apprehension.

"The captain wants me to take you ashore in
case we have to fight."

"Oh." She swallowed a lump of misery. "And
where is the captain now?"

"He was rowed over to the
Ville de
Paris
more than two hours ago. That's Admiral de Grasse's ship.
Did you know that it's the biggest in the world?"

"No, I didn't."

"At any rate, the captain has known the
admiral since he was a boy. His father was the admiral's
friend."

"It must have been a very moving reunion."
Devon had never felt worse.

"No doubt. Captain Raveneau hopes to be of
some help. You see, the French fleet is here to blockade Chesapeake
Bay and prevent General Cornwallis from escaping General Washington
and Rochambeau, who are marching to Yorktown with their armies. So
the big battle is yet to come. And although the British navy has
been beaten off for now, Captain Raveneau says that another fleet
could be sent down from New York at any time to rescue Cornwallis.
He wants you removed to a safe place before it is too late."

Minter sat down in the leather wing chair,
oblivious to the torment Devon was suffering. "I see," she said
flatly. "Am I to be put off on a raft and left to my own
devices?"

"Oh, no!" Minter laughed. "I'm to take you to
a small farm up the James River. It's on the other side of the
Yorktown peninsula, not far from Williamsburg." He flushed
self-consciously. "As a matter of fact, it's my home. You'll stay
with my parents and sister. Then when the fighting is over, you can
look for your fiancé."

Who? Devon almost blurted. Then she asked
softly, "Are we to go now?"

"Yes. Captain Raveneau asked me to bid you
farewell for him. He said to wish you much happiness with your
future husband."

Devon's insides cramped. She could just
imagine the expression on Andre's face when he uttered
those
sentiments!

* * *

The Yorktown peninsula was shaped like a
thumb, pointing downward into Chesapeake Bay. Yorktown itself
perched near the tip of the peninsula and Williamsburg stood at the
junction of the peninsula with mainland Virginia, on the opposite
coast from Yorktown. Two rivers flowed down the peninsula into
Chesapeake Bay; the York River skirted Yorktown, while the James
ran through Williamsburg.

Minter and Devon set out from the
Black
Eagle
that morning in a neat thirty-foot cutter with lugsails.
It took them a full day to sail up the James and reach the Minter
farm. They encountered dozens of other boats with passengers who
frequently recognized Minter and shouted greetings to him but he
concentrated on sailing the cutter while Devon sat glumly in the
bow, staring at the water before them.

They reached their destination shortly after
dawn the next day. Devon had tried to sleep with little success. As
Minter navigated their cutter up the narrow inlet that led to his
farm, she was overcome by anxiety. Why did I ever leave New London?
she asked herself. I could have lived with Temperance and Rebecca,
or even with the Gadwins, until Morgan returned. Instead, I am in
the middle of a swamp on my way to stay with a family I don't even
know! Suppose Morgan is dead or I cannot find him? What will become
of me?

She put a hand up to her tangled curls. A
pasty film coated the inside of her mouth and she felt dirty all
over.

Minter held out his canvas ditty bag.
"There's a comb inside," he offered, "and a bit of cloth you might
wet to wipe your face."

Devon smiled her thanks and opened it
expertly, rummaging through the razor, wooden shaving dish and
brush, jackknife, scissors, and wooden ditty box, which contained
Minter's sewing gear. At the bottom were the comb and square of
flannel. She did what she could to improve her appearance and was
particularly refreshed by the cool, wet cloth on her face.

"Feel better?" Minter asked gently.

"Yes. Thank you. And, Minter, I'm sorry if
I've been a terrible shrew."

"I've been worried, is all. I'm used to
seeing you a good deal more lively." He brought the cutter
alongside a small dock and furled the sails. "If you are worried
about living here," he said, "you needn't be. My family will take
to you, I am certain of it, and I have an older sister who is only
twenty-three. Her fiancé is fighting, too, and she's been waiting
for him for five years, so she’ll welcome your company."

"Thank you for telling me. That does
help."

Minter tied the cutter up, scrambled onto the
narrow, makeshift dock, and put a hand out to help Devon. They
walked through a thick grove of hickory and chestnut trees and came
upon a small frame house with a catslide roof. In the distance
Devon could see fields, a tobacco barn, and two other
buildings.

"It's not very much," Minter apologized, "but
my people have lived here for over a century, so it
is
home.
After this war ends, we have many plans..."

The farmhouse door swung open and a tiny,
thin woman stepped onto the walk. "Halsey?" she called. "Is that
really you?"

"Mama, you know it is!" He trotted forward
and embraced his mother. Devon thought that the woman looked more
like his grandmother. Lank gray hair was twisted into a severe coil
at her neck, accentuating her haggard face.

"Mama, this is Devon Lindsay. She came from
New London, Connecticut, to look for her man, and I know you'll be
glad to share our home with her 'til the fighting is over at
Yorktown. Her own family is dead."

"Good morning." Mrs. Minter put out a wizened
hand, which Devon stepped forward to shake. "My name's Constance
Minter. Welcome."

"I don't want to impose..."

"Nonsense. Perhaps the day will come when you
can do us a good turn." The words were kind, yet she didn't
smile.

"It was Captain Raveneau's idea that she come
here, Mama," Minter explained. "He brought her south on the
Black Eagle
after there was a battle in New London. The
British burned the town and her mama died."

Raveneau's name seemed to set Mrs. Minter's
mind at ease. "You poor child... I expect you've been suffering,"
she said. "Come on inside. After you two have eaten, I'll have
Azalea heat up some washing water."