Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1) (22 page)

Even his face was as ruddy as it had been
painted. He obviously adored Azalea, listened to every word she
uttered, yet managed to voice his own thoughts. It soon became
evident that he possessed a talent for making her believe she was
getting her own way while coaxing her into cheerful compromise.
After an hour with the couple, Devon knew they would be happy
together.

A short time later, she attempted to leave
them together. They had meandered over to a tree and leaned against
the trunk, embracing and whispering. As the crowd thinned, Devon
wandered to and fro on the road, looking for Morgan. He had to be
here today—if he hadn't been wounded or killed. That thought was
horrifying, even though she hadn't the faintest notion what she
felt for him any longer.

Even the soldiers were heading back to their
separate camps. There was no sign of Raveneau, but it seemed
certain that he would return for her. Now that the excitement was
over, Devon felt slivers of panic. What if she
didn't
find
Morgan? What then? She could wander through the camps and inquire,
but what if he were long dead? Azalea would be going home, Isaac in
tow, for he had already announced that he was finished with the
war. Raveneau would surely be anxious to return to the
Black
Eagle
as soon as possible. What would she do?

While pacing the road, Devon saw two men on
horseback riding unhurriedly in her direction. They each wore the
dark-blue and buff uniforms of officers in the Continental Army
and, as the pair drew near, Devon could see that they were splendid
representatives of the male species. Their smiles were wickedly
reminiscent of Raveneau's own.

The first man, who appeared to be about
thirty, wore a cockaded hat over his jet-black hair, and even from
a distance, Devon could see that his eyes were a vivid shade of
aqua-blue..

"Fair young lady, my friend and I have been
wondering if you are in need of our assistance? You appear to be
rather distraught."

"I don't believe I am acquainted with you
gentlemen," Devon replied frostily, only to be greeted by soft
laughter as the two men exchanged ironic glances.

"We beg your pardon,
cherie!"
the
dark-haired officer exclaimed. "My name is Major Alexandre
Beauvisage."

"And I am Captain Lion Hampshire," supplied
the younger man. He had removed his hat to display tawny hair that
gleamed in the sunlight, and his handsome face was as deeply tanned
as that of his companion.

"We were on our way back to the house of a
friend, and it happens that I have a bottle of excellent brandy,"
Major Beauvisage explained smoothly. "Perhaps you might consent to
join us for a much-deserved celebration."

"Absolutely not!" Devon burst out in
astonishment.

"I hope you do not imagine that we are less
than trustworthy!" Hampshire interjected.

"That is precisely what she ought to
imagine," a fourth voice said sarcastically.

Devon whirled around. Of course, it was
Raveneau, astride the gray stallion, one dark brow arched high over
flinty eyes.

"Bonjour,
Major Beauvisage," he said
coolly. "I thought you were with Francis Marion in South Carolina
these days."

Beauvisage grinned lazily. "I wanted to be on
hand for the surrender."

Raveneau glanced inquiringly at Lion
Hampshire, and Major Beauvisage made the introduction. Then
Raveneau fastened a wintry stare on the two of them and said, "I
gather that you lechers thought to amuse yourselves with this
defenseless maiden?"

"Raveneau!" cried Beauvisage. "You needn't
get angry. How were we to know she belonged to you?"

"She does not. This is Mademoiselle Devon
Lindsay and she is here to seek out her fiancé."

"And
you
are assisting her in her
search?" The major could not repress a snort of doubtful
laughter.

"Perhaps you know of him?" Devon interjected.
"Private Morgan Gadwin?"

Lion Hampshire seemed amused. "No, Miss
Lindsay, I fear not."

Raveneau and Beauvisage conversed briefly
concerning the latter's family-owned fleet of privateers and the
latest exploits of the
Black Eagle;
then the Frenchman
slanted a look in Hampshire's direction and said, "We do not want
to keep you two gentleman from your celebration. Mademoiselle
Lindsay is desperately sorry that she is unable to attend,
however..."

The handsome officers laughed, offered
Raveneau and Devon mock bows, and bid them farewell. As they rode
off, Raveneau observed, "Back to the matters at hand—I take it that
you have been denied the tearful reunion you have dreamt of for so
long."

Devon turned around in time to see him pull
off his white gloves and swing easily to the ground. "I can't
understand it," she said. "Why isn't Morgan here?"

"He may have been. Perhaps he was so far away
that he simply didn't see you. There are a number of alternate
explanations. Many things can happen to a soldier, you know."

Devon's eyes brimmed with tears, and she saw
his cool expression harden to ice. She couldn't tell him that her
tears were not those of a lover, but of a girl who seemed to be
blundering into progressively deeper predicaments.

"I was a fool for ever allowing you to remain
on the
Black Eagle,"
Raveneau said, his voice cold. "I must
have lost my reason. However, now that I am involved this deeply in
your tangled affairs, I suppose I must see this through. You shall
stay with me. Tonight I will search the camps for your precious
Morgan. I'll wager that if he is not to be found, someone will have
news of him."

"And then?" Devon whispered, hating herself
for needing him.

"We will follow and find him. No one will be
more pleased than I when you are reunited with that cursed
phantom!"

***~~~***

October 20, 1781

Raveneau and Devon rode into Williamsburg the
following afternoon. There had been no sign of Morgan in any of the
American camps, but Raveneau did hear that he had contracted a mild
case of camp fever during the march south and was likely to be
found in the hospital in Williamsburg.

During the twelve-mile journey from Yorktown,
Andre had filled Devon in on Williamsburg's recent history.
Williamsburg had been the colonial capital and the social hub of
the Tidewater region not so long ago, he said. The town was small
and elegantly designed, memorable for its gardens, its charming
white houses, and a reckless air of merriment.

Three years ago, Governor Thomas Jefferson
had decided to move the capital to Richmond, nearer his own
Monticello. Williamsburg had yet to recover from the blow. Many of
her most prominent citizens followed the governor, including a
number of physicians and attorneys, as well as the printers of the
Virginia Gazette.
Cornwallis's ten-day occupation the
previous June had further ruined the town.

Devon had listened with one ear. So much had
happened that it was difficult to absorb all these details after
the quiet month on the Minter farm. She had waved goodbye to Isaac
and Azalea that morning as they set off in the carriage to return
to her parents' farm. Raveneau had kept his stallion and managed to
buy a chestnut gelding for Devon to ride from a farm near
Yorktown.

Now, slowing her horse to a walk, Devon
glanced over at a pensive Raveneau, whose eyes examined every
person as they turned from the York Road onto the broad Duke of
Gloucester Street. There was no escaping the fact that she was glad
to be here with Raveneau, glad that he hadn't located Morgan yet.
It was too good to last, but for now she would take a page from
Azalea's book and hoard her memories of these hours.

Williamsburg proved to be an enchanting town,
despite its recent decline. The public buildings were stately and
built of brick, each one surrounded by sweeping grounds and
abundant gardens. The private houses were generally constructed of
wood, one and one half stories tall with numerous dormer windows.
Devon had never seen so many gardens. Every home seemed charmed by
patterned brick walkways and boxwood-edged flowerbeds.

"Williamsburg must be heavenly in the
spring," Devon sighed.

"Yes," Raveneau agreed, walking his horse to
the left to avoid a lone cow that stood motionless in the road.
"You'll find it a far cry from Connecticut. The English influence
has been strong here."

They passed rows of shops with distinctive
signs shaped like sheep, boots, teapots, or a wild boar. The
windows were like pictures with their displays of imported hats and
fruit, baskets, pewter, and elaborate wigs. Other shops stood empty
and forlorn, their goods now enticing the people of Richmond.
Soldiers were everywhere.

Anthony Hay, proprietor of the Raleigh
Tavern, barked that he had no rooms, until he turned to find
Raveneau standing there. The two men laughed about things Devon
didn't understand as they climbed the stairs, and she found herself
wondering about all Raveneau’s adult years before they had met.
Obviously he had spent a portion of his time since 1776 in New
London, but where else had he been? She stole a glance at his dark,
laughing face and wondered if he had ever been in love. Dozens of
women must have been in love with him. And how many women had he
kissed?

All these thoughts served to make her feel
more insignificant than ever. Raveneau left her at her room to wash
and rest and went on to his own with Hay. The chamber was pretty,
with a canopy bed and wing chair covered in matching rose and cream
cotton and two gleaming dormer windows that offered a view of the
garden below. A serving girl knocked, then brought fresh water for
the pitcher and a neat stack of snowy linens.

No sooner had Devon washed her face and
slipped out of her dusty gown than her eyes began to droop. The
feather tick was deep and cool; she sank into it and fell instantly
into a dreamless sleep.

She woke with a start to the sound of a
throat being cleared. Alarm squeezed her heart as she remembered
the soldiers in the street, many of whom had been laughing and
shouting drunkenly. Still half- asleep, Devon struggled to sit
up.

There was Raveneau, standing at the foot of
the bed, leaning against one of the posts.

"How did you get in here?" she demanded.

"The usual way."

"You might have knocked! I'm not dressed!"
She put one hand over the bodice of her thin chemise.

"I don't mind." He grinned. "And, for the
record, I did knock. Several times."

Devon dropped back onto the pillows and
yawned. "I must have been too tired to hear."

"You should be glad that I came in, otherwise
you might have slept right through the night and missed the
festivities."

"What festivities?"

Raveneau brought a tray over from the bureau
and set it on her lap. "You must be hungry. It is past six
o'clock."

"Six!" she exclaimed, then noticed the indigo
darkness outside and the candle he had lit beside her bed. The tray
looked and smelled wonderful, containing hot spiced shrimp, tender
rolls, strawberry jam, and green beans in a cream sauce. Between
bites, Devon repeated her question. "What festivities?"

"Well, a friend of mine has a new home here
that he hasn't been able to enjoy because of the war. The victory
at Yorktown seemed a perfect excuse for a party, so he has planned
a ball of sorts for tonight. I know that you can think of nothing
but Morgan, but—"

"A ball!" Devon echoed rapturously. "But what
would I wear?"

A sardonic smile flickered over Raveneau's
face. Crossing to the wardrobe, he opened one door and withdrew an
exquisite gown. Devon nearly choked on her shrimp. The dress was
fashioned of ivory satin embroidered with slender, blood-red
flowers on swirling green stems. The square bodice, sleeves, and
petticoats were lavishly trimmed with ivory lace.

"Do you like it?" he inquired.

"It is the most beautiful gown I have ever
seen! But—"

"I have many friends in town,
petite
chatte.
I simply queried a few dressmakers until I discovered
one who had the right gown of the right size." He brought it to the
bed so that she might feel the heavy fabric. "You understand that
it is just for tonight. It was made for the mistress of a nearby
plantation."

Devon was radiant. "I don't mind. One night
will be more than sufficient!" She reached out to touch one of his
strong hands. "Thank you."

Raveneau returned the gown to the wardrobe,
then seated himself at the foot of her bed. This reminded her of
many occasions past on the
Black Eagle.

"You don't mind postponing your search for
Morgan until tomorrow?" he asked.

Devon could feel her cheeks heat guiltily.
"Well, after all, it is already dark."

"I could have gone. If he is in one of the
hospitals, I would have known within a few hours."

The Governor's Palace had been converted into
a hospital for wounded Americans. The capitol building and the
College of William and Mary served as hospitals for the French.

She didn't know what to say. It seemed
terribly impolite for him to put her in such a position. She really
ought to forgo the ball and send him straight after Morgan.

Unable to meet his steely gaze, Devon stared
down at her food, crumbling a roll. Closing her eyes, she imagined
herself in that gown, dancing in Raveneau's arms. "No," she
whispered. "Morgan may not be at the first hospital, and then the
entire evening would be wasted. You deserve a party, and—" She
looked up defiantly. "So do I!"

Raveneau bit back a smile and an urge to toss
aside that tray and hold her. Just when he would begin to convince
himself that she was not special in the least, there would be a
moment like this one when she absolutely bewitched him. She
possessed none of the glamour of his past lovers, yet right now,
with her tousled strawberry-blond curls, vivid blue eyes, and
flushed cheeks, he found her breathtaking. Worse, the memory of the
night they had made love remained with him, tormented him. He was
convinced that he felt guilt for taking her virginity, and that by
reuniting her with Morgan he would be able to erase the stains on
his conscience.