Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1) (3 page)

"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, but 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!"

"How do you do, mademoiselle?" Raveneau said,
his voice deep, charmingly accented, and faintly amused.

When Nick pinched her, Devon blurted, "Oh, I
am fine! And you?"

"I am also... fine." A fleeting grin revealed
teeth which seemed startlingly white against his tanned face.

Rebecca arrived with the “tea” tray, which
held three glasses, a decanter of brandy, and a small goblet of red
wine. Devon always had wine at Nick's, one delightfully forbidden
glassful. The distraction enabled her to find a chair and sit down.
Nick returned to his desk, Raveneau to the red leather wing chair,
and the tray was passed.

"How is your mother?" Nick inquired, adding
to the visitor, "Devon's father, my good friend, was lost at sea
some years ago. Tragically, her brother was on board as well."

Raveneau turned steel-gray eyes on Devon and
she felt her heart thud alarmingly. "I am sorry," he said.

"Oh... I appreciate..." Flustered, she looked
at Nick. "Mother is worse than ever, I think. She's totally
absorbed in the shop, working every minute. There must be two dozen
quilts and as many net canopies, all unsold, and still she makes
more. She never mentions Papa or Jamie any more and hardly speaks
to me. Doesn't even bother to nag about my behavior..." Devon broke
off, blushing.

Raveneau had been watching her with detached
interest. She was the prettiest girl he had seen in months, though
sadly in need of grooming. Her cloud of burnished-rose hair was
loose and windblown, boasting a dried leaf on one side. The plain
blue dress she wore was too small, though it did outline the high
curve of her breasts well. But her face was simply enchanting. It
had been a while since he had observed such fresh beauty: sparkling
blue eyes, dusky cheeks, and a mouth that enjoyed laughter. Ah,
innocence! he thought, and allowed himself a lazy, cynical
grin.

His expression deepened Devon's blush. She
retreated into the safety of her wing chair, listening to the
conversation. Apparently, whatever business was between the two men
had already been discussed, for now they only exchanged news of the
war.

Raveneau had been at sea until two days ago,
and was interested in the details of Benedict Arnold's treason and
the execution of the British officer who had acted as go-between.
Devon found the Frenchman's cool attitude toward Arnold quite
surprising. It had been nearly a month since General Arnold had
scurried down the Hudson to New York town, leaving the popular
British Major Andre to be hanged as a spy, but everyone in the area
continued to talk of the traitor daily. Anger, shame, and
bewilderment were emotions that ran high, yet here sat this
nonchalant Frenchman, asking questions as though he were discussing
the price of rum.

"I understand that Major Andre requested a
military execution by firing squad," he remarked.

"Yes. General Washington wished to grant him
that much, but since Andre was found guilty of spying, Washington
was forced to have him hanged."

"He was a brave man, unlike that toad
Arnold!" Devon exclaimed. "He put the rope around his own neck, and
do you know what his last words were?"

"No, but I trust you will enlighten me,"
Raveneau murmured, amused.

"He said, 'My only wish is that you all bear
witness that I die like a soldier and a brave man.' "

Nick coughed with embarrassment. In
desperation, he drew out his watch and examined it at length, at
which point Andre Raveneau stood up. Devon gazed at his tall, hard
physique until she heard Nick cough once more. Both men were
watching her, and she was conscious of the deep flush that spread
over her face.

Nick rushed around his desk. "Devon, child,
what's this box you have?"

"Oh, I nearly forgot. It's the bonnet you
ordered for Temperance's birthday. Mother did lovely work on it. It
hardly seems fair that you should buy it, since you own the shop,
but times being what they are—"

"Hush, minx! I may own the shop, but I don't
have a talent for making bonnets! Leave me the bill, now. Stay
awake in church this week and perhaps you'll see the thing
modeled." His eyes danced.

"Nick, you are too bad."

"And you, miss, are an authority on making
mischief! Which reminds me—Shaw mentioned today that he's seen you
wandering about the docks! That's got to stop, Devon. You'll find
yourself with more trouble than even you can handle." He looked at
the Frenchman. "Isn't that so?"

"Unquestionably," Raveneau confirmed.

"You'd better be off as well, Devon. Your
mother will give me the devil for keeping you all afternoon.
Knowing you, you took the longest route getting here." Nick put an
arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her tumbled hair.
"Can't you find a comb in that shop?"

"Must you scold me? I can see that this is
not the place to come for a good laugh any longer!"

Nick chuckled and gave her an affectionate
wink. "Say, I've an idea! Perhaps Captain Raveneau would see you
home. What do you say?"

"Sir, you have read my mind," he said. Devon
doubted it but was thrilled all the same, until he added, "The only
drawback is that I came on foot."

He's laughing at us! Devon thought,
humiliated. The man is a cad!

"Oh, that's no problem," said Nick. "It is
getting dark; no time of day to be wandering the streets. I insist
that you take my carriage. I'll have a boy drive you."